


Landslide

by Lamport



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Post-Series, Pre-Series, Season 1-4, parallel narratives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2015-09-05
Packaged: 2018-04-17 13:21:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 24,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4668101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lamport/pseuds/Lamport
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story examines Carol's life before the Turn and the experiences that shape her character.  Be aware that there are references to physical and sexual abuse.  Lyrics for the title and chapters are from the song "Landslide" by Fleetwood Mac.  I always think of Carol when I hear it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mirror in the sky, what is love?

**Author's Note:**

> Carol meets two men.

"We ain't dead.  Whatever happened, happened.  Let's start over."

 

* * *

 

He loves her hair.  He winds his fingers through it, tucking strands behind her ears.  They lay in bed together staring at each other in the semi-dark hotel room catching their breath. 

 

He got the room at her request.  She just couldn't fathom losing her virginity in the back of his old Chevy.  It was fine for late night fumbling and taking shelter from a Georgia rainfall, but it wasn't where she pictured her first time.  When he finally prodded the truth from her and she voiced her opinion out loud, he sighed and said, "Well hell! Why didn't you say somethin before?  I'll get us a room.  We'll make it special."

 

If she were honest with herself, she's a little embarrassed at her lack of experience.  At twenty she's never had a serious boyfriend before - daddy usually scared them off.  Most of the guys in high school knew he was in the military and that he kept a close eye on her.  That didn't stop her from sneaking out her bedroom window as a teenager, meeting up with boys to drink warm beer beside a campfire, kissing them with a spinning head.

 

The night she met Ed she'd barely given him a second thought.  She was working at a diner part time to cover her rent (daddy was paying her college tuition - pushing her towards nursing even though she doesn't like the sight of blood) - Ed sat at her section late one night, alone at a table, and ordered a black coffee.  His blue eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled at her and asked for a re-fill.  When she returned with the coffee pot he asked if she wanted to hear a joke.

 

"What do you call a deer with no eyes?"

 

She pauses mid-pour to think about it, suppressing the urge to roll her eyes.

 

"I don't know.  What?"

 

"I have no-I-deer."

 

It's probably the corniest joke she's ever heard, but she laughs just the same.  After that he came back every night for two weeks straight, snatching bits of time with her one cup of coffee at a time.  His tenacity gets the better of her and soon he's picking her up after her shift to drive her home.

 

* * *

 

The first night at the quarry is a restless one for everyone.  Thankfully Sophia fell asleep in the back seat of the station wagon while she and Ed set up the tent.  She'd been too afraid to sleep, despite her exhaustion, so it was no surprise that she was the first one of their larger group up and about the next morning.

 

She carefully climbed into the car to check on her daughter, before turning the key partway in the ignition to flip on the radio.  A bone-deep chill runs through her when each station comes up static.  On the red horizon smoke is still billowing up from the remains of Atlanta.  There is no house for her to return to anymore.

 

She slips out of the front seat silently and opens the back hatch, searching for the coffee she knows Ed will be expecting - end of the world or not.  Truthfully she needs a task, needs to cling to something domestic and familiar to shake herself out of the fear that threatens to paralyze her.

 

It's clear from a cursory glance that there isn't anything in their clearing to build a fire with.  She decides to search for some wood behind the tent, but close-by should something happen.  Soon she's lost in thought, bending down to pick up deadwood off the forest floor. 

 

"What you got there, little mousy?"

 

The voice startles her and she whips her head up to find herself face to face with a dangerous looking man, smoking a cigarette.  His eyes are glassy and he is swaying a little on his feet.  The ground near him is littered with empty beer bottles, hunting rifles, and a sleeping bag.

 

"You gonna answer me, or what?"

 

He lunges towards her and rips the coffee tin she hadn't realized she'd been clutching out from under her arm.  He comes close enough that she can smell the booze sweating out of him.

 

"Aw, that's the stuff," he mumbles, tearing the lid off and taking a deep sniff inside the can.

 

The sleeping bag moves to reveal the back of another man (younger, but with the same drawl), who turns his head towards them angrily. 

 

"Man, shut the fuck up Merle! Some of us are trying to sleep!"

 

"Good morning to you too, little brother."

 

She glances over her shoulder at the campsite, and debates making a run for it, or calling for help.  No one seems to be up yet.  While she's thinking, the one in the sleeping bag sits up and stares at her - taking in the scene before rising and scratching the back of his neck.  His clothes are filthy and the torn off sleeves of his shirt reveal tattoos.  He holds her gaze for a second before she drops her eyes to his boots and takes a step back.  

 

For some reason she feels tears forming.  All she can think is how much she needs that coffee back.  Ed will be furious.  These men don't understand.  She hears her voice break, in a whisper.

 

"I - I'll make you some.  Just - can I have it back? Please?"

 

Merle looks to his brother and laughs.  When he sways to face her again, he's still smiling, but his eyes are cold.

 

"Well that's mighty kind of you to offer, Mrs - "

 

"Peletier."

 

"- Mrs. Peletier, but I'm very particular about my coffee, so if it's all the same to you, I'll make it myself."

 

He turns away from her again and walks through the bush, still holding the coffee can.  The younger man pauses, then and starts gathering up his things to follow when he notices the tears sliding down her cheeks.  He shakes his head as if to say there's nothing to be done, then turns and leaves her - silent and alone.

 

After a few days she starts to put names to the voices she heard in the dark that first night on the highway.  For the first time in years she feels safe - there are so many people, Ed is leery of putting their "business" out in the open.  She is also painfully aware of how out of practice she is at being social.    

 

She sees the brothers making their way through camp on occasion, stopping to talk to Dale and Shane, but they mostly keep to themselves.  Merle swaggers everywhere, talking a mile a minute at a volume that's impossible to ignore, his brother a quiet shadow at his side. Every time she sees them she burns with shame and busies herself with folding laundry.

 

* * *

 

He surprises her with roses on their first real date.  She doesn't have the heart to tell him she thinks that red roses are cliche, reminding herself that it's the thought that counts.  

 

At his insistence, she brings him to meet daddy at church one  Sunday.  Ed sat in the family pew in a brand new suit he desperately tried not to sweat through.  She sat beside him, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze when she thought no one was looking. When the service ended they all went out for lunch together and Ed paid.  She enjoyed the way that that seemed to unsettle daddy and impress her mom.

 

She stayed at home that night, in her old bedroom, surrounded by posters for bands she no longer listened to, feeling smug and satisfied.  In the car Mom couldn't stop going on about what a nice young man Ed was.  How it was so respectable of him to meet the family.

 

Daddy stopped by her open doorway (the door itself having been removed years ago in a fight she'll never forget).  He was still wearing his suit, but his tie hung loose around his neck.  She could see that he was sipping a glass of whiskey.  Instinctively she pulled the blankets up to her neck.  He just stood there watching her, and sipping.  It was unnerving.

 

"Good night, daddy."

 

He looked down at his glass then and smirked, but his eyes were cold.

 

"You think he's pretty special, don't you?"

 

They've played at this before.  She knows better than to try and answer because nothing she says will be the right thing.

He takes a shaky step into her room and points a finger in her face.

 

"You just remember who pays for you to skip around and flirt at that sorry excuse for a college.  Big shot can pay for lunch, but that don't mean he can support you."

 

He staggers out soon after and she tries to forget the odd mixture of jealousy and disgust in his tone.

 

* * *

 

It's not until the search for Sophia that she finally pieces together a complete picture of Daryl.  At first she is so overwhelmed with fear and guilt over losing her little girl, she doesn't recognize that there is something off about him.  Out of the influence of his brother he is somehow less menacing to her.  

 

He is so hopeful that Sophia will be found that it sustains her when she is so doubtful.  The night he comes back, covered in blood and filth, carrying Sophia's doll, she is busy mashing potatoes in the Greene family's kitchen.  Her plan to make herself useful has largely worked - she's only stopped to think about her girl, and the man out searching for her a handful of times.

 

When she hears the porch door bang closed and Hershal's command to "bring him to the bedroom" her blood runs cold.  She puts down the potato masher and exchanges a worried look with Lori before heading down the hall.  There are drops of blood staining the rug leading to a closed door and muffled voices.

 

"... he's passed out for now.  Doesn't look like the bullet did much more than graze him."

 

"Lucky red-neck."

 

"Best keep him in here for the time being.  Let's not scare the ladies."

 

She knocks tentatively, and Rick opens the door a sliver. 

 

"Is he okay?"

 

He puts a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

 

"He'll be fine.  Dinner smells great.  We'll be with you directly."

 

Later, when everyone is full and quiet, she slips back down the hall with a tray.  She hasn't seen him yet, but she heard he regained consciousness and could only assume he'd be starving.  She couldn't track in the woods, ride a horse, or put down a walker - but she could show her appreciation that he could do all of those things for her with a hot meal.

 

When she opened the door and saw him laid out on his side, a bandage wrapped pathetically around his head, everything she observed about him fell into place.  The flinching, the scowling, the clipped words - the way he wouldn't give up on finding Sophia even as the hours drain away the likelihood of her survival.  

 

Despite his injuries he is quick to snatch the sheet over the scars that line his back.  They are old and deep.  He's been abused too.

 

* * *

 

She can feel his eyes on her when they are together.  At first it's unsettling.  She laughs nervously and tells him to stop, but he doesn't.

 

"Can't help it.  You're a beauty."

 

From then on she doesn't mention it, just tries to take it as a compliment.  

 

He can't seem to get enough of her.  Soon she's skipping her philosophy class so he can take her back to his apartment.  He encourages her to ditch work, promising that he'll take care of her.  He's been promoted at the office and starts talking about marriage.  It's only been a few months.  She feels good with him but remains coy, which is apparently not enough.  One night, after sex, he brings it up again.

 

"Let's get married, Carol.  I love you so much, honey."

 

When she doesn't respond, except to laugh and kiss him, he suddenly pulls her away.  His hands hold her by the shoulders as he looks into her eyes.

 

"Don't do that. I'm serious."

 

She doesn't know how to answer.

 

"Ed, I'm only 21.  Don't you think we can wait a while?"

 

For the first time, she sees his eyes turn steely.

 

"What are you sayin? You plannin on waitin to see if something better comes along?"

 

"No.  Of course not.  I just... I haven't even finished school yet.  Daddy will kill me if I don't graduate."

 

He sighs.  "Is that all?  Well, fuck him.  Who cares?  I told you - I'll take care of you."

 

And just like that, they're engaged.  The next day, at the diner, she tell her co-worker Emily about it, glossing over the less romantic parts.  It's not the engagement she dreamed about; there was no ring, and no plan, but she's happy just the same.  She gauges Emily's reaction.  Her friend seems appropriately excited, and that excitement is a confirmation that she's making the right decision.

 

Unfortunately, not everyone is so supportive.  Mom smiles through gritted teeth and offers congratulations before leaving the living room the night she tells them.  Daddy is livid.  There is yelling. Assertions of independence and control.  Threats to cut off money.  Threats to cut off grandchildren.  Ed, who had been waiting outside, heard the crash of a lamp and came in to interject.  The two men mirror each other circling the living room while she cries for them to stop from the fireplace- her cheek stinging from the blow that daddy managed to land.

 

* * *

 

She can feel his eyes on her when he's near her.  She's so drained by the loss of her little girl that she barely registers him, or anyone, for a long time.  Gradually, when she's lost her patience with everyone tip-toeing around her, she starts to recognize his constant presence.  It's strangely comforting - the reminder that she's not alone.

 

He sits with her in the RV, silent but there.  Unlike the others, it's clear that he doesn't want to talk about it.  He offers no cliched sentiments about angels and heavenly peace.  She's not sure heaven even exists anymore.  

 

Without Merle or Ed they are both exposed and directionless.  There are no shadows to cower under, and now with the echo of a shot from Rick's gun, there is no hope to sustain her either.


	2. Can the child within my heart rise above?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knocking her down and building her up.

Five years later her life is blessedly simple.  They move to a suburb just outside Atlanta and cut ties with her parents altogether.  Ed buys them a small bungalow and she dedicates her time to making it a home.  She printed off some forms to get her credits transferred to the nearest college, but she can't seem to find the time to fill them out and mail them in.  School seems like a chore, especially when Ed points out how much it costs and how she won't likely be working soon anyway (they keep trying for a baby, but it hasn't happened yet).  She uses the allowance he provides her with each week to buy home decorating magazines full of immaculate kitchens and living rooms.  

 

She scrapbooks photos of their wedding - a quiet church service with a small dinner at a restaurant with their friends. It's not what she imagined her wedding would be like, but she's happy just the same. 

 

The hardest part of the move is leaving her friends behind.  She cried when Emily hugged her goodbye in the parking lot of the diner, Ed honking the horn from the station wagon full of their things.  The city seems so big and anonymous.  She can't seem to connect with people like she did back home.  When she mentions it to Ed, he laughs.

 

"It's not like you had a lot of friends to begin with.  Hell, if you want friends let's throw a party for my work buddies.  They'll bring their wives and maybe you might hit it off."

 

A few weeks later she's bustling around the kitchen pulling bean dip out of the oven, throwing dirty dishes in the sink, and pausing just long enough to check her reflection in the hall mirror before answering the door.  Ed's busy at the stereo flipping through CDs. At 26 her face has lost some of it's roundness.  Tonight her hair is down in soft brown curls.  She took the time to put on some new lipstick and feels pretty.

 

She's quickly introduced to Jon and his wife Mary.  Mary kisses her on both cheeks, like they're in Paris or something, and it makes her giggle.  She's laughing about it in the kitchen while grabbing them beer from the fridge, when Ed comes up behind her and mutters low in her ear.

 

"Wipe that stuff off your lips.  You look ridiculous."

 

She turns to him, incredulous, and sees that he's not joking.  He hands her a kleenex and she balks.

 

"What?  Come on, Ed.  It's just a little lipstick."

 

She ducks around him with the drinks and heads back out to their company in the living room.  Within a few hours three more couples have arrived and everyone is well lubricated.  Somehow the talk shifts to the benign topic of sleeping habits. 

 

"Jon is the worst!  He snores like a fog horn - I swear to God."

 

Jon groans and says something like "here we go" under his breath.  This sets all the ladies off laughing and throwing in their stories for sympathy.  Gaining courage from the warmth of the alcohol flowing through her, she decides to chime in.

 

"Ed talks in his sleep.  He once had a whole conversation with me about his family cat, Sprinkles."

 

The crowd in the living room roars, all except Ed. She knows immediately that she's done something wrong, but after his comment about her lipstick she doesn't much care.  Her tactic is to keep everyone there as long as possible, but eventually the night has to end.  She kisses everyone on both cheeks on their way out the door.  Her head is swimming as she collects the empty beer bottles and clears the coffee table. 

 

The next thing she knows Ed has a hand clamped around the back of her neck.  She freezes with the beer bottles in her hand as he squeezes her harder.  He shakes her slightly with each word that explodes from his mouth.

 

"Don't you ever fucking embarrass me like that again."

 

It's enough to sober her up, but she's so shocked that she can't say anything for a few agonizing beats.  She apologizes tearfully, but he stalks out of the room and goes to bed without saying another word.  The next morning he has a plate of bacon and eggs waiting for her when she finally makes her way to the kitchen.  The way he smiles at her when he hands her the plate makes her question if it really happened.

 

* * *

 

After the farm fell and she lost Sophia she struggled to find her place.  She can hardly remember a time when she wasn't a wife and a mother.  Every time she sees Carl with Lori and Rick it's like a vice closes in around her heart.  In her most bitter moments she curses God.  Why should they be allowed to keep their family intact when she couldn't? Hadn't she done everything right?

 

Gradually she understands that her role is to help Lori get through the winter without losing her mind, or the baby.  They've all lost enough people already.  If there's anything she can do to prevent more lives lost she'll do it.  Unfortunately, over time she comes to realize that this means learning how to shoot a gun.

 

She comes to rely too heavily on the men in their make-shift family for protection, and her carelessness nearly costs her her life.  It happens during just another routine house sweep.  She's waiting with Lori outside an old three storey with white shutters on the windows when a walker shoots it's arm out at them through a rose bush.  She pulls Lori away in time before it stumbles out from its hiding place and lurches towards them.  The knife at her belt sticks in the sheath and she panics.  The walker closes in, then suddenly stops.  Her eyes open (when did she close them?) and she sees a familiar bolt sticking out of the walker's eye.  Daryl is staring down at her from the porch, breathing hard and looking worried.  Rick gives the all clear.

 

"You alright?" Daryl asks as they head inside.

 

"Yeah, just surprised me is all."

 

His eyes focus in on her, examining the knife at her belt.  She's hardly used it since Rick insisted she carry it a month ago.

 

"You ever shoot a gun?"

 

"No."

 

Rick and Daryl exchange glances.  They've become ridiculously good at reading each other since Shane died.  It's kind of unnerving.

 

"Well, I'd say it's high time you learned," Rick says, patting her on the shoulder.

 

The next morning Rick is explaining the basics of firing one of Hershal's hunting rifles to her.  Daryl and T-Dog set up empty cans on top of a rusted out car, put out to pasture long before the Turn in the middle of a farmer's field.

 

"Now, the trick is to brace the butt against your shoulder and keep your arms locked.  The kick-back can knock you on your ass if you're not ready for it."

 

When T-Dog returns he smiles.

 

"You got this, Carol."

 

When all three men are behind her she lifts the gun to her shoulder.  It's heavier than it looks.  Her heart is pounding.  What if she screws this up - jams the gun somehow, or the bullet ricochets and hits someone?  Come to think of it, is it really a good idea to waste valuable ammunition on shooting practice?  What if she's so bad they laugh at her?

 

Before she can talk herself out of it completely she registers Daryl standing beside her. 

 

"Aim for the cream corn - that shit was disgusting."

 

His comment makes her smile, despite her nerves.  She aims, but still can't bring herself to pull the trigger.  She doesn't want to be a disappointment.  She's always been a disappointment.  Her vision blurs with tears that come unbidden to her eyes.

 

Daryl pulls a cigarette out of his front pocket and lights it, taking in a slow drag.

 

"Breathe in," he instructs.  She does. "Now breathe out, and squeeze the trigger."

 

The crack from the shot echoes in the trees that surround the field, and she's pleasantly surprised to see that her shot has only missed the mark by a foot.  

 

"Not bad.  Try again, Annie Oakley," he says pointing to the larger can of beans sitting on the hood.  The next shot takes out a headlight, but she doesn't waste any time reloading and trying again.  It takes a half a dozen shots before she hits an intended target.  When the bean can falls to the ground she hears Rick and T-Dog whistling behind her.

 

She lets out a breath and turns to Daryl, who passes her more bullets.  The satisfaction of succeeding in this makes her bold enough to chat.

 

"I used to make a mean bean dip."

 

"Is that right?"

 

Glenn comes walking up to them from the house to see the show.  When the smaller can of cream corn meets its maker he shouts, "Hell yeah!"

 

By the time she puts the gun down for good her shoulder and arms are aching, and the light is fading.  When she turns around, she's surprised to see everyone but Lori and Carl there, giving her a round of applause.  Daryl takes the gun from her and nods while T-Dog gives her a high five, and suddenly there are tears stinging her eyes again and she can't understand why.  For the first time in years she goes to bed with a grin.

 

* * *

 

Six months later she's all but forgotten the night of the party.  She meets Mary for coffee once a week, but mostly keeps to herself back at the house.  She starts reading more than ever before - regularly visiting the library for books.  Now that she's four months along in her pregnancy she's eager to read up on everything to do with babies.  She always thought that when she got pregnant she'd have her mom close by to talk to, but she's happy just the same.

 

Ed is over the moon at the news that he's going to be a father.  It's the first time in a long time that she can recall being able to make him so happy.  His happiness makes her feel good - like she's finally fulfilling her role in their marriage - so she doesn't talk to him about how scared she is.  She tries not to complain about her constant nausea and aching body.  She doesn't push him away when he gropes at her sensitive breasts in bed at night.

 

One night he comes home late after staying out with his friends for drinks after work, and he's feeling mighty amorous.   She's just managed to fall asleep when she can feel him tugging on her nightgown, unbuckling his pants at the same time.  She feels exhausted and unattractive so she pushes his  hand aside weakly and tries to roll over.  He isn't so easily dissuaded.

 

"Come on now, Carol.  It's been almost a month.  A man has needs," he slurs into the darkness.  She can smell the whiskey on his breath and it unsettles her.

 

She tries to ignore him, laying on her stomach and willing him to leave her alone.  Then she feels him crawling over her legs, resting his weight on her bare thighs.  She tries to turn to face him but he has her pinned.

 

"Stop."

 

He doesn't. 

 

In the morning she discovers blood on their sheets.  Ed's already left to go out hunting with Jon.  She washes the sheets in icy water to dislodge the stains and tearfully drives herself to the emergency room to confirm what she already knows.

 

* * *

 

Finding the prison is a god-send.  They have fences, shelter, and real protection - and she helped them take it.  She can practically feel the relief roll off of everyone, especially when they look at Lori's swelling stomach.  

 

When they almost lose Hershal she's suddenly aware that she is still relying too heavily on the rest of the group.  She needs to be able to step up and do something when the time comes.  She spends nights in the cell, in a bunk above Lori, frantically trying to remember the college classes she took a lifetime ago.  

 

She finds Glenn in the morning, and soon has a body to practice incisions on.  In the end, no amount of planning helps, and it's a bitter pill to swallow.  One day they're celebrating a huge victory for their family, the next they're burying two of their own.  Her friends are dead.  Glenn and Maggie are missing.

 

Daryl finds her standing outside in the yard that evening, rocking a fussy Judith to sleep under the light of the moon.  The baby is sleeping peacefully now with a face so pure and innocent it breaks her.  She vows silently to herself that no one else in her family will die if she can do something about it.   

 

Her thoughts (and tears) are interrupted by his gruff voice breaking the silence of the night. He doesn't ask if she's okay, because he knows she isn't.

 

"We're heading out tomorrow to get Glenn and Maggie back."

 

She wants to beg him not to go.  She can't fathom losing anyone else, let alone him.  Panic chokes her, and she can't make her voice work to respond to him.

 

"We're going to get them back," he says, as much to himself as to her.  He won't make promises he can't keep - she respects that about him - but it doesn't stop her from wishing that he'd promise to come back.

 

He leans closer, and it's confusing to her.  For a minute she thinks he wants to embrace her, until she realizes he's trying to get a better look at the baby.

 

"You want to hold her?"

 

He doesn't respond right away, but soon reaches his arms out, placing a protective hand around the tiny head cradled by her elbow.  They move slowly together without speaking, careful not to jostle her and wake her up.  It's the closest she's been to him since he carried her out of the tombs.

 

When the baby is finally in his arms he sighs.

 

"All this shit we been through...she's a goddam miracle."

 

* * *

 

The next four years she has a hard time leaving the house.  Everywhere she goes there are reminders of the babies she keeps losing.  The supermarket is full of formula, diapers and families toting around chubby offspring.  She starts doing her shopping late at night to avoid them.  

 

She avoids Ed too these days - or is it Ed that's avoiding her?  Either way, their sole interactions these days seem to be over gas bills and when the grass needs to be cut.  He comes home drunk more often now.  In the darkness of their bedroom he turns into someone she doesn't recognize anymore.  His gentleness is gone, replaced with something else, something vindictive and angry.  

 

Their sex has become rough and perfunctory; sometime consensual, but more often than not, against her will.  She has long since given up trying to physically stop him.  The first few times it happened she yelled, cried, and pushed at him.  The reward for her effort was usually a slap, sometimes a fist to the stomach.

 

After nearly ten years together he is gaining weight from all the drinking.  His blue eyes now stare at her icily from a bloated face.  She's changing too - it's been a long time since she's looked in a mirror, but she can see that the brown curls on her shoulders are becoming peppered with grey strands.  She debates dyeing it, but the effort and expense just don't seem worth it.  Ed doesn't seem to care much either way.

 

They get invited to a wedding and she looks despondently at the white doves and embossed letters.  She doesn't need to ask Ed to know that he won't want to go.  Besides, she has nothing to wear to a wedding anyway.  The colour seems to have bled out of her closet like the life that has bled from her body.

 

In her darkest hours she's thought about leaving him.  These thoughts come unbidden to her mind when she's ironing the creases in his pants, when she's making his dinner just how he likes it, when he's rutting below her waist while she stares at the ceiling.  She's picked up the phone and dialled her parents' number at least a dozen times, hanging up before it starts to ring.  What could she say?

 

Without Ed she has nothing.  No money of her own.  No job - or prospect of one since she's been unemployed for so long.  She never even graduated from college.  The house and car are in his name.  Where could she go?

 

Mary starts to suspect something the third time Carol cancels their coffee plans (every time they are scheduled to meet there are too many visible bruises for her to leave the house).  She shows up at the house unannounced one day.  Carol doesn't answer the door.  Instead she whispers to herself, "Please just leave.  I don't want you here."Within a month Mary has stopped trying to reach her.

 

The only thing she has left is faith.  She starts going to church again and prays over Ed's body at night.  God, let him stop drinking.  Let him be at peace.  Keep him from laying hands on me.  Help me.

 


	3. Can I sail through the changing ocean tides?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carol questions her faith.

It's hard to pinpoint exactly when she gives up on God.  When Sophia dies she acknowledges that losing her girl is likely divine punishment for praying for Ed's death.  For a long time she feels like maybe if she can survive the losses she's suffered she can atone for her sins.  If she can bring some comfort and security to those around her, maybe then she can find peace.

 

Hershal encourages her to sit with him and Beth in the evenings to read scripture, but ever since the bus load of newcomers from Woodbury arrived, she can't seem to find the time.  Her days are filled with endless chores, and she's so exhausted by the end of each day it's all she can do to kick off her boots before falling into a dreamless sleep. The newcomers look to her for guidance and direction.  It's strange, but she feels a growing sense of purpose - one she never felt as strongly in her previous life as a wife and mother. 

 

She is busy puzzling out a plan for a new water filtration system in the prison library one afternoon.  Glenn is with her, sketching diagrams on the back of old parole release forms when Daryl silently makes his way towards them.  His gait is different these days, like he's also found his own motivation to continue moving forward.  She's seen him sharing cigarettes with a man he and Glenn found on a run last week, a medic, he said.  

 

"Hey, Daryl.  What do you think of this?" Glenn asks, turning the papers towards him. 

 

Daryl nods his head, but he's clearly distracted.  Glenn sighs, rubbing a hand over his face.

 

"Of course, it will only work if we can find more rain barrels.  The last run we did to the hardware store we cleared them out.  I don't know where else to look."

 

Daryl responds vaguely, saying something about an old greenhouse he knows of somewhere further away, then Glenn heads out in search of water.  They've been working all morning, and they're both in need of a break. 

 

When he's gone, Daryl swings a chair around and sits down across from her at the table they've started using for council meetings.  He surprised them all when he stopped going out to hunt for the Governor with Michonne and started attending their regular meetings.  He never says much, but when he does it's always important. 

 

He clears his throat and fiddles with the strap of his crossbow.

 

"Took some guys down to the tombs this mornin."

 

She already knows this.  The plan was to take back the remaining cell block to ready it for more newcomers.  The tombs could work as one form of emergency exit if they could  get them clear.  Of course, very few people from their original group were up for the task. 

 

"Found this," he says, pulling something from his shirt pocket and carefully laying it on the table between them.  It's her old necklace with the tiny gold cross.  Light from the high windows glints off of it.  It looks like it's glowing.

 

She stares at it dumbly.  She vaguely remembers it being torn from her neck when she fought her way into a cell in the pitch dark.  It was cold. T had just been torn apart in front of her. All she could feel was her heartbeat thundering in her ears and the walkers clambering around her.  Their hands clawing, teeth snarling.  The knife lost to her hand. Her sobs echoing in the small space she found herself in, accepting her inevitable death.

 

Daryl sighs, pulling her from the past, and he starts to get up from his chair. 

 

"Thought you might like it back.  Guess not."

 

She immediately reaches for his hand where he has braced himself to rise.  At her touch he sits back down and she pulls her hand back, scooping up the necklace along the way.

 

"Thank you.  I appreciate you bringing it to me.  It's just- "

 

He looks at her, with that gaze that pierces right through her, and waits.  He never tries to fill their silence, or attempts to put words in her mouth.

 

"My mama gave this to me when I was 13.  I was going to give it to Sophia when she..." Her voice breaks a bit at the name.

 

"I wore it every day. To my wedding, that my mama wasn't there to see. To every trip to the emergency room...to the tombs... I thought it would protect me - that God would protect me."

 

She pauses, thinking of the naive girl she used to be.

 

"Only God didn't protect me at all, did he?"

 

She holds the chain up to the light, feeling the cool gold of the cross bump against her wrist.  She sees it now for what it is - a piece of metal.

 

"God didn't save me from the tombs.  T-Dog did."  She turns her eyes from the gold, to his face.  He's not fidgeting now.  Just quietly listening.

 

"You did."

 

He shakes his head abruptly, just once.  Eyes dropping to the table, unable to hear praise about himself, however true.

 

"You saved yourself.  I just found you."

 

Later, long after their conversation ended (turning to considerably less charged subjects like walkers on the fence and their next supply run), she reflects on what he said.   Maybe God didn't save you when you expected him to.  Maybe he helped you to realize that you had to save yourself.  Maybe she should have been praying for her own strength all those years instead of praying for Ed to lose his.

 

Much later, when she's methodically digging two child-size graves in a pecan grove she'll spend her whole life trying to forget, she sees a glint of something in the dirt.  It's her necklace, turning up like a bad penny.  It must have fallen out of her pocket.  She'd forgotten it was even there.  Before she can pick it up, Tyresse comes forward with a shrouded body in his arms.  She doesn't think twice before burying that speck of gold in the ground along with the girls.

 

* * *

 

Living with Ed is like a daily exercise in survival.  Every morning he wakes up, every evening he comes home, his mood is a contradiction.  She pays close attention to his gait, tone of voice and expression whenever he enters a room.  She becomes constantly vigilant when he is home.  

 

On a good day he calls her "honey," says "I love you," and offers to pick up dinner on his way home.  He'll rub her neck and shoulders while she does the dishes, willing herself not to flinch.  On a bad day the smallest thing will set him off; spilled coffee, the wrong tie laid out for him on the bed.  He calls her "useless," says "you're a frigid bitch," and threatens to leave her for someone else.  He'll wrench her arm from the socket if she tries to get away.  Like the roulette games he's so fond of playing at the casino, she never knows which kind of day he's going to land on.

 

After a bad day he'll sometimes have the sense to act somewhat ashamed of his actions.  He'll be waiting for her at the hospital doors with red roses and an apology (sometimes he even cries and promises it will never happen again).  He'll try to break the tension of the ride home by cracking another bad joke that she forces herself to laugh at.  At least he's trying.

 

It would be so much easier if she didn't love him, or at least the man he used to be.  One Christmas he surprises her with a diamond ring.  She's crying so hard she can barely see it.  Ed is on the floor on his knees, crying right along with her.

 

"I know I never got you a proper ring when we was first engaged. That was wrong.  You deserve the best, baby."

 

She chokes out a sob while he carefully slides the ring on her finger next to her wedding band. 

 

"I love you, Carol.  I know it ain't been easy, but you gotta know that's true. I'd marry you all over again."

 

He's careful around her and kind until she makes the mistake of teasing him about the way he says "supposably" instead of "supposedly."  Then his voice becomes tyrannical and his hands are shaking with the need to hit her.  It doesn't take long before he does.  She can't fathom what she's done to make him turn against her like he does, but she's sure it must be something.  It's her fault.  It's always her fault.

 

* * *

 

Nights on the road with Tyresse and Judith are tense affairs.  No one sleeps more than an hour without waking up from nightmares.  On one such night she wakes up to find that Tyreese has fallen asleep on watch.  Judith is restless in her arms, but still asleep for the moment.  She sifts through her bag for a soother and manages to place it in Judith's mouth without waking her.  

 

It's a beautiful night.  Not too cold despite the fall leaves on the ground around them.  Under different circumstances she would have enjoyed the quiet, but right now her body is tense and coiled to strike.  The silence is not comfortable, but ominous. 

 

She rises slowly with half a mind to wake Tyreese and scold him for falling asleep, but she knows how exhausted he his physically and otherwise (just as much as her), so she checks the perimeter of their camp instead.  The only person she can rely on these days is herself.  

 

Her circle takes her out from under the trees for a moment, and she can see the stars.  Infinite points of light stretching across the sky above her head.  It's breathtaking that something so constant and beautiful could exist just above a world so broken and ugly.

 

Without meaning to she starts to identify a triangle of constellations; Cassiopeia, Orion, Ursa Major.  Daryl showed them to her one night when they shared watch on the guard tower.  

 

They hadn't been at the prison long, but there was a security there they hadn't felt in a long time, and it made them genuinely happy for the first time in ages.  Just returning to the same cell, and the same bed each night was bliss.  In the coming weeks there came to be a sense of routine among the survivors.  Daryl would rise every morning before the sun and head out to hunt.  His boots echoing off the grate stairs near his perch.  He'd return a few hours later, like clockwork, with whatever he managed to catch.  She began to find his habits comforting.  The way he lit up after a long day, blowing smoke out of his nose like a dragon.  The slightly cocky swagger he'd adopt when he had a deer slung over his shoulder.  They way he'd blush and shake his head when she teased him.  That had been unexpected.  The first time she joked with him about fooling around she had momentarily stunned him to silence.  Since that first night she had deliberately taken to tossing sexually suggestive comments his way, just to see what he would do.  

 

That night in the tower had been much like this one.  They'd been sitting in comfortable, predictable silence, staring at the night sky when he cleared his throat.

 

"You know anything about stars?"

 

She had shaken her head in answer, waiting for him to go on.

 

"I spent a lot of time lookin at them as a kid when I got lost in the woods.  Merle taught me about some of 'um when he wasn't stuck in juvie."

 

She had been shocked that he brought up Merle, or his childhood.  They'd never talked about it before, though they both knew that Carol had seen his scars.

 

He had moved closer to her then, angling his body beside hers, careful not to touch.  His arm came up over her shoulder as he pointed to the sky.

 

"See the 'W'?"  He traced it with a finger in front of her eyes.

 

"Yeah."

 

"That one's Cassiopeia."  The Greek name sounded lovely with his low drawl.  She felt her cheeks heating. "She's a mother, being punished for ... something... Aw, hell.  I don't remember the rest of the story."

 

His confidence faltered and he tried to withdraw.

 

"What else?  You know any more?"

 

He moved his arm across to another cluster of stars, checked to make sure she saw it.

 

"That one's Orion.  The hunter."

 

At that she snorted a laugh and he looked offended for a second.

 

"Cassiopiea and Orion.  The mother and the hunter.  That's me and you," she'd explained gently.

 

He'd blushed then, fiddling with his bolts, barking out a laugh too.

 

"I guess so."

 

Now, with Judith in her arms, she feels an emptiness like never before.  There are no tears left for her to shed.  Wherever Daryl is, if he's even still alive, he's not with her now.  His constant presence, a quiet force in her life, is gone.  Only the stars remain, and they are cold and distant now.

 

* * *

 

When she gets pregnant with Sophia everything shifts.  Unlike the other pregnancies she feels hopeful.  The nausea doesn't last long.  Her hair and finger nails grow thicker.  The proof of her condition gives Ed pause at night.  For the first time in years, he's actually gentle with her.  Growing a life inside of her makes her feel stronger than ever before- so strong she convinces Ed to start going back to church with her.  For a few months there's no alcohol in the house.

 

They paint the nursery a pale yellow and fill the dresser with tiny diapers.  Some women from the church throw her a baby shower in the basement.  She wears a hat made out of a paper plate and pink and blue bows. 

 

There's a happiness and serenity about her now that nothing can touch.  Ed is baffled by her, rolling his eyes while she calmly washes and folds all the new onesies.  From the first moment she felt her little girl move inside her she's known she'll never be alone again.

 

She's due in August which makes for an uncomfortable summer.  She spends most of her days on the couch knitting booties and a baby blanket, mindlessly watching TV.  One afternoon she sees an infomercial for a life coach.  He is charismatic and something about the way he speaks to her, like he can see her on the other side of the screen, keeps her from flipping the channel.

 

He talks forcefully about taking control of your own life.  Making decisions that matter.  Paying attention to your habits and behaviours.  She's not sure if it's his words, the heat, or her hormones, but before she can stop to think about why it's happening she's sobbing into her hands.  Then she realizes, with a start, that it's not just sobs that are wracking her body, it's contractions.

 

36 hours later she's cradling her perfect little girl in her arms.  Ed is smiling and telling her how much he loves her.

 

"It's going to be different now, honey.  I promise."  For a moment she can see a glimpse of the man she served coffee to at the diner, and she's relieved.  She believes him.

 

When she looks at her baby she feels love thundering through her whole body.  It is the most intense thing she's ever known.  She feels foolish for thinking she ever knew what it really means to love another person before now.  There's no comparison.  Holding her close, she prays silently for God to protect her child - to make her life better than the one her mother has known.

 

"What are we going to call her?"

 

"Sophia.  It means 'wisdom.'"

 


	4. Can I handle the seasons of my life?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get worse before they get better.

 The long Indian summer they spend at the prison is full of hope.  Everyone seems content with the life they are building for themselves behind the fences. For Carol, the hope is there, but always tempered with healthy dose of caution.  Too many years of false-starts and disappointment have made it impossible for her to lower her guard to the extent that the others have.  

 

She warns Beth about the risks of a physical relationship with Zach.  She insists on evacuation drills for each cell block.  She teaches the kids how to wield knives.  She doesn't like it, but these things have to be done to keep the people she loves safe. 

 

While she doesn't agree with Rick's decision to put down his gun and pick up a garden hoe, she has to admit that it feels good to see things growing again - not just being destroyed.  

 

One warm August evening Daryl catches up to her in the outdoor kitchen.  She's so proud of how it functions - feeding a small army of people two square meals a day.  Food is getting easier to come by, and everyone contributes.  Maggie is the self-proclaimed "worst" at kitchen duty - forever burning rice to the bottom of pots and boiling pasta so long it disintegrates.  She's in the middle of scrubbing the bottom of a giant stock pot after one of Maggie's "special" stews when she hears his boots on the platform behind her. 

 

"Hey."

 

She turns to face him, smiling, wiping her hands on a dish towel.  He's concentrating on toeing a small pebble between the cracks of the floorboards, hands tucked under his armpits.

 

"Hey yourself.  Did you eat?  I can make something for you if-"

 

"Nah, no thanks.  I ate." He cuts her off, eyes darting to hers for a flash.  It's long enough for her to know that something is up.

 

"Was wonderin.  You wanna go for a walk with me? I got somethin to show you."

 

Her curiosity is piqued.  She wants to tease him for the inadvertent sexual connotations of his choice of words, but he looks so ernest, she can't.  Is this what counts as a date at the end of the world?  She feels her exhaustion falling away from her body.

 

"Sure.  Why don't we walk to C block?"

 

"Nah.  I mean, outside the fence." 

 

A few minutes later and they've got Carl on the pulleys opening the front gate.  The walkers travel in herds these days, and as luck would have it, there aren't many of those around this evening.  The sky is streaked with orange, pink and purple.  

 

It becomes apparent that Daryl has an agenda from the moment they enter the tree line.  He leads the way at a brisk pace.  Clearly he wants to make sure they make it back before it's too dark.  It's all she can do to keep up, following the angel wings on his back listening to the birds overhead and the crickets down below.  After days on end in the prison, she has to admit that she's missed the open space.

 

They keep hiking until Daryl stops abruptly near a spring and turns to her expectantly.

 

She eyes him quizzically. "What's this all about, Daryl?"

 

He bends to the spring and splashes some cold water into his mouth before answering.

 

"You know what day it is?"

 

"No, not really.  If I had to guess I'd say the third week of August?"

 

He winces a bit at that.  Looks...angry? Then looks at the ground.

 

"It's been a year."

 

And that's all he has to say before the chill comes over her chest, and her stomach drops. The air around them changes and she struggles to get her breath back.  How is it possible that she forgot?

 

A year.

 

A year since the body of her beautiful girl walked out of Hershal's barn.  A year since Rick put a bullet in her head.  A year since they lay her in the cold ground without her mother present.

 

When she registers where she is again, Daryl is standing over her.  Somehow she ended up on the ground.  His face is contorted with his own mixture of concern and grief.  Of course he would be the one to remember the exact day.  He probably knew the minute.

 

"...thought you should know.  Wasn't sure if you was just puttin on a brave face like you always do."

 

For the first time since they arrived at this spot she realizes why he brought her here.  The grasses around the spring are full of familiar white flowers. She's shed oceans of tears in her life, but that doesn't stop fresh ones from bubbling up inside her now. 

 

Beside her, Daryl is still talking quietly.

 

"... Could have brought one to you at the prison, but - I didn't wanna upset you in front of the others.  I know they don't know about her... You haven't told 'em." 

 

He thinks he's made a mistake bringing her here.  She can't allow him to think that way, so she stands up slowly, wiping the tears from her cheeks with the back of one hand.  

 

Before she can think too much about it, she presses in close to him, waits for him to flinch and steady his nerves, before wrapping her arms around him.  To her relief, she feels his arms come up to hold her, stiffly.  Her cheek rests on his shoulder, her eyes on the blurry white spots in the clearing, like stars in the sky.  She repeats the only words she can to convey her feelings, even though they can't possibly be expressed with only words.

 

"Thank you." 

* * *

 

Ed keeps his promise to her for five months, but if there's one thing Carol has known to expect from him it's that he always disappoints her in the end.  At first it's a case of beer he's decided to bring home for the big game this weekend.  Then it's the front door slamming in her face, while Sophia screams in her ears.

 

She can't bring herself to worry about anyone but her daughter.  In a strange way she can see that Ed is jealous of the attention she pays to Sophia.  He can't seem to understand that he is not the most important person in her life anymore.  She begins sleeping in the nursery on a foam mattress on the floor.  Ed gets upset if his sleep is disturbed, but if she's honest, she's happier spending nights away from him.

 

One night Ed doesn't come home.  At first she's relieved.  The house is happier when it's just her and the baby.  By midnight her relief turns into worry.  What if he was in an accident? He could be seriously injured somewhere and need her help. She calls his office, and a few of his friends, and gets nothing but answering machines.  She puts Sophia in the car seat and drives around in their station wagon, checking for his vehicle outside the casino and a few of the bars he goes to. 

The next day he shows up when she's bathing the baby in the kitchen sink.  She had just gotten off the phone with the Sherrif's office to find out when she should file a missing person's report.

 

"Where were you?"  Her voice wobbles.  She's been scared to death.

 

"None of your damn business, that's where."

 

"I was worried."  She tries to explain.

 

"Spent the night at a friend's."  He says it casually, but his tone threatens "drop it."

 

When he passes by her to reach into the fridge for a beer she can smell the perfume and sweat on his skin.  He looks straight at her the whole time, making sure she registers the scent - daring her to start a fight.  She wants to scream at him, hit him like he hits her, take Sophia and just drive away - but she doesn't.  

 

In a way she's strangely relieved.  If he finds someone else to warm his bed it means less pain for her.  It's despicable and disgusting, but what is she really going to do about it?

* * *

 

 

When the prison turns from a home to a war zone, Daryl goes missing.  It was bad enough when Rick drove through the gates with an empty back seat and she nearly collapsed thinking that he didn't make it back from Woodbury.  When Rick quietly explained that he chose to leave with Merle she wantEd to collapse for different reasons.  He's come so far - opened himself up to others.  She can barely recall the snarling, insensitive man she knew before.  

 

Now the new woman, Michonne, has returned alone to their gate without a Dixon to be found.  With the threat of war at their doorstep the thought of them out there, alone, paralyses her with fear.  Inside their cell block, Glenn is barely recognizable from the beating he received at the hands of the Governor.  Maggie is stony and silent, prickling whenever anyone comes near.  Carol knows exactly what men like that are capable of.  While the young woman hasn't said much, it's clear to her the sorts of things that happened behind closed doors.  There is more than one way to break a person.

 

A full day passes with her standing on the watch tower, binoculars in hand.  Every hour that passes without a sign of his presence makes panic rise up in her like a wave.  It feels like she's drowning.  She tries to convince Rick to go out and look for Daryl, but he is too preoccupied with his war.  He says they can't risk going out at night.  Hershal and Glenn agree.  The sun is rapidly setting behind them and storm clouds are rolling in.  She knows he is right, but his decision doesn't sit well with her.  If it were anyone else, she thinks, he would have organized a search.  If only she were braver, like Michonne - more capable of handling herself instead of being a burden - she'd go looking for him herself.

 

Carl keeps her company in the tower, bringing her dinner she can't eat.  Finally, when she's just about to scream with the frustration of it all, she sees his familiar shape approaching the gates.  It's raining heavily, and he is barely visible, but she recognizes his gait just from the silhouette of his body.  She bolts down the stairs, taking two at a time, heedless of Carl's look of surprise.  She could kill him for making her worry like this.  She wants to yell at him - smack him.  Running through the torrent, splashing mud everywhere, she sprints to the pulley and opens the door.

 

The relief she feels at seeing him is short lived. 

 

He is pale and staggering, in a way she hasn't seen since he was half carried into Hershal's back bedroom with a bullet wound.  Quickly she checks him over, looking for rips in his clothes, any indication of bites, scratches or other injuries.  There aren't any she can see, but the rain is relentless.  She needs to get him inside to get a better look.

 

When she looks to his face, utterly defeated, she realizes he's been wounded in different way.  He opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.  For the first time she registers that he is alone.

 

His hands, smeared with so much dirt and blood that the rain can't remove it, are shaking.  When his eyes finally meet hers, she knows exactly what happened.  She takes a step closer, touches his shoulder.

 

"Come on.  Let's go inside."

 

She can hear Glenn shouting to Rick somewhere behind them.  Daryl lets out what she can only describe as a whimper before dropping his head to her shoulder - their only point of contact.  She holds him there, moving her hands to his neck, feeling him shake and shudder.  

 

She wants to say she's sorry.  That it's going to be okay.  But she can't.  It isn't true.  She never lies to him. 

 

"Come on," she repeats.  They walk back to the gates together.

* * *

 

Shortly after Sophia's sixth birthday Carol starts to fantasize about her escape.  Ed becomes truly insufferable.  The beatings happen with more frequency now than they ever did before her pregnancy.  What's worse, he doesn't seem to mind doing it in front of their daughter, despite her pleading.  She can't continue this way, with her weakness displayed to one so innocent and young.  

 

Nothing satisfies him.  If she could just stay out of his way, keep the house clean, keep Sophia quiet. No matter how hard she tries to shrink into the corners of their house, to make her presence as small as possible, he still seeks her out.  The walls seem to be closing in on her.  The air is stifling.

 

She knows that if (when) she leaves it has to be as far away as she can.  Ed won't just let her disappear with their daughter.  Her credit card is in his name.  She has no access to their bank account without his permission. He'd turn the country upside down looking for her. 

 

It seems like fate when she sees the Avon lady stop by the house one day.  Normally she wouldn't answer the door, but the woman seems friendly.  Her name is Pam and she explains to Carol that she works for Avon full time.  Sophia is intrigued by the case of lipsticks on the kitchen table.  Pam puts a bright pink colour on the girl's lips and Carol declares, "You look so pretty!"

 

"So, are you interested in taking a look at our catalogue?  No pressure!"

 

"Actually, I'll just take the lipstick. Thanks."

 

When she hands Pam a crumpled five dollar bill she's shocked to see her pull out a bill fold with at least $300.  At her expression Pam chuckles.

 

"You're my last house of the day.  I know what you're thinking - a woman like me shouldn't be carrying around so much cash.  I'm heading to the bank to make a deposit."

 

"No!  I mean - that's not what I was thinking.  I guess I just didn't know selling makeup could be so profitable."

 

"Oh!  It can be!  I'm lucky.  My husband, Bill, he works full-time.  Our kids are all grown up and on their own, so I have nothing else to do but dedicate my time to selling product.  It helps pay for those little extras a girl needs," Pam says with a wink.

 

The next month her Avon starter kit arrives.  Everyday she drops Sophia at school, runs a few errands and then hits the pavement.  It's not as easy as Pam makes it looks, but she has the ultimate motivation to succeed sitting beside her in the passenger seat on the way home.  She hides the kit and her earnings in empty flower pots in the garage.  As soon as she has enough to make a start somewhere, she'll go.

 

Ed goes on a bender one weekend and returns in a rage.  He is fired from his job and hell bent on taking it out on someone.  She hastily packs Sophia an overnight bag with her doll and a toothbrush and drops her off down the street with Linda, an elderly woman from her church who serves as emergency babysitter.  This has happened more than Carol would like to admit.  When Linda, opens the door at Carol's frantic knocking she notices the sunglasses and split lip right away.  Sophia quickly makes her way to the living room to play with Linda's cat.

 

"He's at it again?  Carol, this is no way to live.  Do you want me to call the police?  What can I do?"

 

Hot shame flushes her face.  She is willing to swallow her pride to get Sophia out of the house and somewhere safe, but she'll be damned if she's going to be victimized and pitied by this woman.

 

"You can buy some mascara," she deadpans, pulling an Avon catalogue out of her purse and shoving it towards Linda.


	5. I've been afraid of changing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Banishment and a bump in the road.

When Rick insists that Maggie stay behind at the prison, as one of the only healthy people available to deal with the walkers on the fence and the demands of getting food and water to everyone in quarantine, she has a bad feeling.  She knows there will be consequences for the decision she made to kill Karen and David.  

 

It was not a choice she made lightly, but one she had to make quickly in order to protect as many people as possible.  She knew from her college classes outlining the history of the Plague, and other deadly outbreaks, that something as innocent as a flu had the potential to kill them all in a matter of days.  She tries explaining this to Rick, but his eyes are set on the road ahead of them, shrouded with secrets.  She's seen the look before- his "cop face" - but it's never been directed at her until now.

 

 The entire ride with Rick into the cul-de-sac gives her an intense feeling of déjà vu.  It looks just like every neighbourhood she visited door-to-door selling Avon.  The facades of the homes are virtually untouched.  It's like stepping into the past - only she's not the woman she used to be.

 

When they pull up to the houses and he announces his plan to search for Tylenol in night stands and bathroom vanities, she wants to laugh at the absurdity of it all.  It's a stupid plan - one that takes them away from the people who need them most - but more to the point, it reveals that he doubts that Daryl and the others will make it back.  While it's true that the team that left for the vet college should have returned earlier, she is certain that they will be back.  Daryl  _always_  comes back - Rick should know that by now.

 

Entering the house that looks so much like hers freezes her to the spot.  Rick is already rummaging around, but all she can see is the children's drawings hanging on the fridge door, a basket of knitting beside the chair in the living room, a sign saying "bless this mess" in the foyer.  She's so distracted she almost doesn't see the walker falling down the stairs right toward her.

 

Rick continues to dodge her attempts to discuss the elephant in the room, so she comes right out with it.  The hypocrisy of the situation is too much for her.  The man killed Shane in cold blood! She wants him to yell if he's going to, hit her if he's going to, but just get it over with.  Waiting is the worst part.

 

He thinks she is in denial about what happened to Sophia, but he couldn't be more wrong.  Just because she hasn't spoken to Rick and the others about her doesn't mean she hasn't told Daryl about her favourite bed time story (Rapunzel) or the way her nose crinkled when she smiled.  She doesn't want Lizzie to call her mom because only Sophia had that right, not because she doesn't want to remember that she had a daughter.

 

Later, after helping the strangers she can't bring herself to care about or trust, she tells Rick how she stayed with Ed out of fear of being alone.  What she really wants to say is that she's  _still_  afraid of being alone, but by then his mind is made up.

 

The way he locks her out of the car triggers a memory of Ed doing the same thing after a fight they had in a Walmart parking lot.  It's cowardly, and petty, and it makes her sick.

 

He knows how to hit her where it hurts.  He asserts that the others will shun her if they find out, but what he really means is  _Daryl won't forgive you for this._  

 

She flinches at this comment because it's something she has already thought about.  There wasn't time to talk to him about what she planned to do.  Before they could do anything half the prison was coughing, and he was out the door, chewing the inside of his lower lip with worry and asking if she was okay.  Why burden him further with her own choice?  If she was willing to act then she had to face the repercussions.  That's what she told herself, until the opportunity came to tell him after he'd been outside drawing walkers away with the pigs they'd been raising.  He looked so exhausted and hopeless - more so than he'd been in months - and she found herself at a loss.  What if he couldn't forgive her for this?

 

When Rick tells her that he doesn't trust her with Carl and Judith she doesn't know what to say.  It's like everything she ever did for him and his family, for Lori, mean nothing to him now.  How nice for him to live in a world so black and white.  

 

She won't give him the satisfaction of crying in front of him again.

* * *

 

Ed stays at home all day drinking beer on the couch for weeks while he waits for a new job to present itself.  It was bad enough when she had to be around him for a few hours after work and before bed - now he is constantly there.  He barks at her from the couch, bangs outside the bathroom door yelling about the water bill, criticizes her every move.

 

"This what you do all day?" He snarls towards her.  She's got the ironing board set up in the dining room - neat piles of freshly pressed sheets on the table.  She doesn't respond - just keeps her eyes on the board, methodically moving the iron and repeating a mantra to herself.  Not much longer.  Not much longer.

 

The most frustrating part is that he follows her everywhere.  This means she can't make sales.  When the phone rings in the kitchen she has to make sure she gets there first in case it's a client asking for an update on their order, or the company checking to see how many of the Christmas catalogues she'll need this month.  Thankfully Ed is usually too drunk or lazy to get the phone.  He doesn't seem to have noticed the increase in the amount to calls they receive in a day. 

 

Her only refuge is the car ride to and from Sophia's school.  It's not far - only 10 minutes away - but she always takes the long way with all the stop lights.  The best trips are the ones with all the red lights. 

 

One morning in December she wakes up to find Ed gone.  He doesn't have a job interview that she knows of - he turned down a seasonal retail job because he thought it was beneath him.  Money is tight which only amplifies her need to leave.  

 

That afternoon she goes to the Christmas concert at the school.  The auditorium is full of families holding up camcorders, waving and grinning at kids who blink and stare under the stage lights.  She sees husbands and wives smiling at each other.  Grandparents cheering in sweaters with snowmen on them.  It makes her feel so hollow and sad, she has to stand in the back corner near the garbage bins, in the dark.  The bruises on her neck are hidden by a scarf, but she doesn't want to risk being asked about them, being talked to.  

 

Sophia's class takes the stage to perform a song about winter.  The sound quality is bad in the auditorium so the lyrics are garbled, but she knows the words by heart (Sophia's been practicing the song at home for the last month) and mouths them along with her daughter.  Afterward she meets her in the hallway by the stage door.

 

"That was amazing! I'm so proud of you, honey."

 

They take the long way home, but Ed is expecting dinner so she can't dawdle too long.  When they get home she can sense something is off from the moment they walk through the front door.  A Christmas movie is blaring from somewhere down the hall at a decibel she's never heard before. 

 

Sophia rushes past her before she can stop her and squeals in delight when she reaches the living room.  After hanging up her coat she heads down the hall herself to see what the commotion is.

 

There's a fire burning brightly in the fireplace.  Ed is stretched out on the couch with Sophia jumping around in front of him gaping at a brand new flat screen TV.  She is still trying to wrap her head around the sight when she hears Ed talking to their daughter. 

 

"You like our new TV, honey?"

 

"Yeah! It's even nicer than the one my friend Sabrina has!"

 

Carol turns her eyes to Ed - questioning - how can they afford this? Then she looks a little closer at the fire and realizes what he's burning.  Avon catalogues.  It's suddenly clear where the money for the new TV came from.  Her heart pounds and she finds that she's frozen in her spot in the doorway.  Ed keeps talking to Sophia, but he keeps his eyes on her face.

 

"You can thank your mama for it.  She wanted it to be a surprise for Christmas, but I don't like surprises.  Isn't that right, Carol?"

 

She nods quickly.  There is no voice left in her to speak.  Sophia runs over and hugs her around the waist.

 

"Thanks, mama!"

 

Ed pats the couch cushion beside him, motioning for them to sit down with him and watch the movie.  Sophia happily obliges, missing the looks that pass between the adults.

 

"Sit next to me!" 

 

She robotically moves into the room and sits down on the edge of the couch, willing her heart to stop racing, praying for the tears that prick her eyes to stay there until she is alone.  All of her work.  All of her money.  Gone.

 

Over their daughter's head Ed mouths the word "later."  The waiting is the worst part.

 

Two days later she's sitting at an intake desk at a women's shelter in Atlanta struggling to answer questions about her relationship with Ed.  Had he ever laid a hand on Sophia? Did she have any money saved? Did she have medical insurance? The whole thing makes her feel foolish and pathetic.  How did it get to this point?

 

At night she and Sophia can't sleep.  The mattress on the bunk bed is too lumpy.  She can hear women and children crying down the hall.  Outside sirens wail, and bright lights flood the room with yellow light.  It is a foreign place full of the most depressing people she's ever seen.  Maybe she made the wrong decision.  

 

She's not like these victims that surround her.  True, Ed is an abusive asshole, but he is going through a hard time what with losing his job and all.  She had provoked him by keeping such a big secret from him for so long.  Maybe if she talked to him in the right way, got him to see how unhappy they are, he would be willing to try and make it work again.  He must be so furious and worried right now, not knowing where his girls are.  After a sleepless night, she packs Sophia up in a cab and heads home.

 


	6. Cause I built my life around you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A night at the shelter, a moment with Beth, and an unexpected sexual re-awakening.

She's not sure how she's still standing after Terminus.  By all rights they should be dead.  She stands a little ways from the group surrounding the low fire that first night that they all came out together.  Glenn tells Abraham and the others about the butchering room they were in just before the propane explosion.  His eyes flit over to Carl and Judith, sleeping peacefully next to a watchful Michonne.  The more he goes on, the more she can't bear to listen to it.

 

When Rick tries to apologize, to offer himself up to her for absolution, she can't listen to it.  They all think they're there because of her - even Daryl.

 

The truth is, she entered Terminus with a recklessness that scares her.  After the things she's done, she isn't fit to be around anyone.  She was not only willing to die there, she expected she would.  And in a dark scary part of her heart she knows she wanted to die.

 

The next day she tells herself to keep trying.  Maybe once she gets used to the idea of the new people in their group, maybe if she can spend more time with Daryl, she won't feel like a stranger in her own skin.  

 

He looks at her differently now.  She can see that he's pushing them towards the precipice of something they had been drifting towards at the prison - another lifetime ago, even though it's only been a few weeks.  Unlike the others, he can tell that something is off.

 

"Let's start over."  She's never heard his tone like this before, so hopeful and entreating.  She wants so badly to tell him she can - but she never lies to him, so instead she says, "I want to."

 

It seems like a terrible joke when they find themselves at the shelter in Atlanta a few nights later.  Daryl is curious about her connection to this place, but doesn't press her for details once he finds out.

 

A thought occurs to her in the middle of the night, while she lays in the same bed Sophia slept in years before.  She slides carefully from the top bunk, but her care is wasted when she sees Daryl staring at her, wide-awake.  He eyes her wearily.

 

"Where you going?"

 

She realizes, with a degree of defensiveness, that he thinks she's leaving again.

 

"Filing cabinet. Go to sleep."

 

He huffs, swinging his legs off the bed and stands up next to her, reaching for the flashlight. 

 

"I'll sleep when you sleep." 

 

"Suit yourself."

 

They make their way through the dark hallway, in the opposite direction of the walkers whose muffled snarls haunt her steps.  They soon find themselves in the main entrance.  She flashes her light on the cabinets, and Daryl steps behind her with his own light to help.  They check two cabinets before she finds one with a drawer marked "O-R."  The drawer is locked, and it takes a few attempts with the keys on the ring they found before they find the right one to open it.

 

For some reason her heart is pounding.  She tries to calm down.  I _t probably won't be here.  Don't get too excited_.  Daryl senses her reluctance and runs his fingers through the files in the drawer, flashlight between his teeth.  He finds the file with her name on it and hands it to her unopened.  She stands there, fingering the edges of it, unsure of what to do next.  Daryl coughs.

 

"I'll leave you be," he mumbles, walking slowly back down the hall.  She knows he wants her to share this with him, but only on her terms.  

 

"Thank you," she whispers to his retreating back.  He pauses long enough for her to know he heard her.

 

She turns her attention back to the file, sitting down on the office chair and laying it on the dust covered desk.  Inside are her intake papers with the details of her old life.  There's a chart with the outline of a woman's silhouette where her injuries were circled on the legs, arms, and stomach.  Small, cramped notes elaborate.  Bruises.  Stitches. Cuts.  Burns.  This isn't what she's looking for.  There's nothing here but facts she already knows.

 

She keeps flipping through the pages, scanning the pages that outline the answers from her initial interview, the list of personal hygiene items that were given to her on the first day.  When she turns the last page she starts at the back of the file.  There are two polaroids attached to it with rusty paper clips.

 

One is of a freckled face she sees every night in her dreams.  In the photo, she looks frightened but brave.  Her doll is clutched tightly to her chest with both arms, like she's afraid the photographer is going to take it away from her.  Her fingers trace the beautiful face over and over again.  She thinks her eyes are failing when she realizes the batteries in the flashlight are almost dead.  The light is dimming.

 

She glances, despondantly, at the other picture.  It's a woman in her late thirties with limp greying hair that falls on her shoulders in stringy curls.  Her mouth is set in a grimace, split lip bleeding slightly at the corner.  Her right eye is swollen shut.  The rest of the details fade away as her flashlight dies completely.

 

She makes her way back to the bedroom in the dark with the photos tucked in her pocket.  Daryl is still up.

 

"You alright?"

 

She doesn't have a voice to answer, but accepts his help climbing up to the top bunk.

 

The next morning, when she stands at the window realizing what he's done for her, it's all she can do not to throw herself in his arms and apologize for being so messed up.  He took care of it for her.  He always does, and she can't understand why.

 

When she joins him, standing over the makeshift funeral pyre, she pulls the photos from her pocket.  Daryl eyes them curiously, but doesn't press to see them more closely.  She presses a kiss to her daughter's face, and feeds them both to the flames.

 

* * *

 When she returns home with Sophia, Ed is predictably furious.  He beats her long enough to cause her to black out.  In the morning, she wakes up on the cold floor of their bathroom.  Just when she thinks he is finally through with her, when there isn't possibly another way that he can demoralize and degrade her, he finds a way.  She can't go on this way.  Her eyes are perpetually red from crying.  

 

Her biggest fear is that he'll continue to turn his attention to Sophia.  She will never let that happen - there is nothing she is more sure of.  She would rather die.

 

Ed's favourite way to lead her around the house is by the hair.  He'll yank on it to force her to look at something.  He'll use it as a means to keep her head down on the pillow when he violates her.  His go-to move is to grab her by the hair when she's least expecting it - sitting the table hemming Sophia's pants, putting clean dishes away, folding the laundry. It has long since gone grey, like the rest of her.

 

She is sick of it.

 

Without thinking she crawls over to the cupboard under the sink and pulls out Ed's hair clippers.  She puts a clean towel around her neck and grabs a pair of scissors.  Within five minutes her curls are gone.  Obliterated.  It's oddly satisfying.  She vows then and there, he will never pull her by the hair again.

 

Sadly, Ed is nothing if not resourceful, so her arms take the place of her hair.  He spits at her and calls her an "ugly dyke." She looks up "dislocated shoulder" on the internet that night.  

 It won't be the last time.  They can't afford to pay for her trips to the emergency room while he's still unemployed. 

* * *

 

 She awakens confused and starving.  When her eyes adjust to the light she can see she's in what looks to be a hospital room.  Machines beep to her right, and the burning sensation on her left hand indicates that she is attached to an IV bag.  She moves her arms and legs experimentally.  Pain shoots up her right side, temporarily robbing her of breath.

 

She remembers the car.  Her elbow shattering the window.  The world upside down as she fell to the ground.  Where is Daryl?

 

She takes a deep breath to steady herself in an attempt to rise off the bed.  Before she can will herself to move, the door opens and shuts quickly.  She feigns sleep, breathing deeply to slow her heartbeat which beeps incessantly from the monitor next to her.

 

There is a shuffling of feet, and a warm hand envelops hers.

 

"Carol?  It's okay.  It's me."

 

The familiar voice brings tears to her eyes.

 

"Beth?"

 

They are both blinking and smiling at each other.  She squeezes the girl's hand tightly.  Beth has a nasty wound on her beautiful face, and a cast on her arm, but she's alive.  Daryl was right.  Maybe they do get second chances.

 

"Don't move around.  You were hit by a car.  You still have some pretty serious internal injuries."

 

She nods, incredulous.  Despite the pain, this feels like a dream.

 

"Daryl. Noah.  We were coming to save you."

 

Beth nods, smiling sadly.  She seems older somehow.

 

"I know.  They made a deal with the people in charge here.  We're going home - which means we have to get you dressed."

 

She lets go of her hand long enough to grab a bucket that she must have carried into the room.

 

"Thought you might want to clean up a bit first.  Maybe wash your hair?"

 

A few minutes later, Beth has her laying comfortably flat.  Her head is hanging slightly off the end of the bed.  Soon she feels warm water falling over her forehead and scalp.  Beth runs her good hand through her hair and lathers it up.

 

"I've always liked your hair," she says, smiling upside down.

 

"Really?"

 

"Yeah, it's different.  Sets you apart."

 

There is so much to say, but a comfortable silence falls over the room.  Beth's alive.  She's alive.  Daryl and Rick are coming.  

 

It takes them both at least an hour to get her dried off and dressed.  Looking back she'll regret the things they didn't say in this moment.

* * *

 

After nearly six months of tourture, Ed finally accepts a job at an insurance office in downtown Atlanta.  She decides to risk starting up her side business again.  She's more careful than ever - using Linda's garden shed as her office space.  The old woman was more than happy to help when she explained her plan.  

 

Ever vigilant for opportunities to keep her daughter away from Ed, she enrolls Sophia in a dance class.  It's cheesy stuff - tap routines to The Itsy Bitsy Spider and the like - but Sophia likes it.  The class is forcing her to dip into her savings, and she has to keep it a secret, but it's worth it to see that freckle-face smile.  

 

It's been two years of lying to Ed and working ridiculous hours to keep up appearances, but she's saved up enough that escape feels just around the corner.  She's researched towns outside of Georgia, made inquiries about finishing her degree, and priced out rental units.  Every time she goes on the computer she has to be careful to clear her history.  Ed's paranoia has reached an all time high and he checks everything in the house religiously when he gets home.

 

The dance instructor is sick one week.  Carol hears the other dance moms tittering and laughing before she sees the substitute.  He's young - no older than 30 - and is ridiculously good looking.  His body, clothed in sweat pants and a black v-neck t-shirt, is sleek and firm from his chosen profession.  His face is square and frames clear blue eyes.  He's stunning.

 

For some reason she can't stop thinking abut him even after they've driven home and Sophia's gone to bed.  Ed is passed out on the couch in the living room, so she decides to sleep in the bedroom for once.  She locks the door for good measure.

 

Lying in bed her mind starts drifting to the dance instructor.  She can clearly see the flexed muscles of his arms, and wonders how it would feel to be held by them.  Before she knows it she's dreaming of scorching kisses and him taking her on the bar against the mirrors in the dance studio.  Her breath hitches, and she slides a hand under the sheets to touch herself.  She's shocked and pleased to discover the extent of her arousal.  After all these years with Ed she thought this part of her had all but dried up and died.

 

That night she has the best orgasm of her life.  The next morning, after dropping Sophia off at school, she stops at the adult store in the strip-mall near the interstate and buys herself a vibrator.

 


	7. But time makes you bolder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of Atlanta and the beginning of the end of the world. Plans never go off without a hitch.

It takes her two weeks to convince Daryl to hand over his bloodstained clothing for washing.  They've been wandering aimlessly since they left Atlanta and the hospital behind.  Rick and Abraham speak in hushed whispers over the low fires they risk setting at night, talking and planning.  Like the winter of Lori's pregnancy, they keep having to travel in circles, doubling back to avoid herds of walkers.  It seems decided that they're leaving Georgia one way or another.

 

Their days are spent concentrating on survival; one foot in front of the other.  Find food, water, shelter.  These are the only things to do, but waves of grief wash over everyone and make even the simplest tasks seem futile.  Beth is dead.  No amount of walking away from Grady will change that. 

 

Carol watches her family mourn and thinks that it should have been her they buried, not a young woman with her whole life ahead of her.  Maggie walks robotically beside Glenn, unable to sleep at night, unstable and unfit for watch.  At night her muffled sobs fill the somber air of their camp. Judith, who seems to sense the heaviness surrounding her, fusses incessantly, forcing everyone to take turns jostling her in their arms.  Even Daryl had taken his turn with her strapped to his chest that afternoon - his eyes fixed on the road, but looking past it - absently patting her back to soothe her.

 

Carol is frustrated at her helplessness.  Her body is one giant bruise, like a physical manifestation of how she feels on the inside - broken, and weak.  She struggles to keep up, even though she knows they have slowed their pace to make allowances for her injuries.  A lifetime with Ed has taught her to soldier on and hide her physical pain, but tears spring to her eyes whenever the others insist on carrying her pack, bring her water, give up their share of food for her.  Daryl is the worst for this, and the only one whose help she can't seem to refuse.  When she reaches for her bag that morning, he gently, but forcefully, pulled the straps from her grasp and glared at her.

 

Later that night they made camp beside a river.  There's no soap left for any of them, but they have no choice but to wash up the best they can or risk being discovered by their stench alone.  They agree to take shifts - first the men, then the women.  When Carl gently pulls a sleeping and sweaty Judith out of the carrier attached to Daryl his face turns to a grimace.  The front of the baby's white dress is coated with rusty brown blood.  It must have rubbed off from Daryl's vest.  His brow furrows and he reaches for the cloth in his back pocket before frantically trying to rub at the stains on Judith's dress.  Carl pulls his sister back firmly.

 

"We'll get it off later.  You'll wake her up."

 

Daryl drops his arm, defeated and looks to the ground.

 

"Keep her away from Maggie.  Don't want her seeing that shit," he mumbles. Carl just walks away.

 

When she comes closer after witnessing the whole exchange, she's not sure what to do.  Since Grady Daryl has kept his thoughts to himself.  There hasn't been time to talk, but she can see him withdrawing further and further from everyone and it breaks her heart.  He doesn't seem to notice her approach, just rubs at his chest with the rag.

 

"Let me wash it for you."  It's a question, but she doesn't phrase it like one.

 

"I got it," he says to her boots.

 

"Let me," she says, more forcefully stilling his hand with her own by pinning it against his chest. "I can do it.  Will you just let me do  _something_?" He meets her eyes then, and she can see he wants to argue - that's all they seem to do lately, even though they've barely spoken.

 

"Fine."  He strips off the vest, which sticks to his tattered shirt in places.

 

"Your shirt too."

 

He pauses for a second.  Looks to see that Rick, Abraham, Tyresse, and the others have already made their way down to the water before peeling off his shirt and handing it to her.    In another time and place she would have relished the sight, maybe even made a flirty joke.  As it is, all she can see are his protruding ribs, revealing just how little he's been eating lately.  He sighs heavily and leaves her to watch his retreating back, pale and crisscrossed with scars in stark contrast to bronze arms. 

 

She strips down to her underwear with some help from Sasha and Michonne.  They don't make a fuss, but she can see from their faces that she must look pretty frightful.  The water is crisp and cold and numbs her toes almost instantly.  Her right arm is still sore and useless for swimming, so she lowers herself to sit in the shallows with her left.  Her body protests at the frigid emersion, but she busies herself with the laundry piled on the boulder beside her.  Nearby Tara curses with every step she takes into the river while Rosita takes a calm breath and plunges in head first.

 

Daryl's vest soaks between her legs.  She picks at Beth's blood with her fingernails, bile rising up in her throat, wondering how they got here.  Would they ever get through this?

 

She wishes there were more she could do for Daryl than rinse his clothes, but this will have to suffice.  She'd be happy if she knew what to say to him now.  The easy camaraderie they once shared seems impossible to regain.  They're not the same people they were back at the prison.  

 

For a few fleeting months he blossomed, tussling the kids' hair when he passed them in the prison, shaking hands with strangers, even offering Glen a brief hug on his wedding day.  She still remembers the first time he bumped her on purpose.  He'd been giving her a lesson on car batteries, and she'd been a quick learner.  After she'd correctly installed a fresh battery in a rusty Ford Focus they pulled their heads from under the hood and into the sun.  She turned to find him smiling, squinting at her from under the shield of his hand.  He seemed about to burst with pride.  It was then that he nearly knocked her off balance with an elbow to her side.  She smiles at the memory, then recalls where she is and what she's doing.

 

Hours later the ladies make their way, shivering, back to camp.  Maggie helps her gather the damp clothing off the rocks where they were left to dry on the bank.  When they reach the camp they're met with an unusual sound.  

 

She reaches the clearing and sees Carl kneeling beside a makeshift fire pit with a ragged comic book in his hands.  Judith is sitting on a blanket nearby, naked except for her cloth diaper, clapping her hands and laughing.  Carl pulls out a page from the comic and slowly rips it in front of his sister.  She squeals in delight.  Around the camp everyone stops at their work and watches her, unsure of how to respond.  Tara is the first to stifle a laugh.  She looks at Maggie immediately, but she's smiling, and soon they all are.

  

She senses Daryl coming up beside her, but she can't tear her eyes away from the baby.

 

"Never heard her do that before," he says, but in his tone she hears an apology.

 

Carl rips another page, the fire he was building all but forgotten.  Judith's tiny belly shakes with more gleeful giggles.

 

She turns to Daryl, handing him his shirt and vest.  He's borrowed a shirt from Tyresse by the looks of it.

 

He nudges her arm lightly.

 

"Thanks."

 

* * *

 

She is so preoccupied with planning the details of her escape that she pays no attention to the breaking news on TV.  Sophia plays in the back yard while she loads the station wagon.  Her plan is to lay low for a while - stay at a few campsites - get out of the state as soon as possible.  She doesn't tell Linda about her plans for fear that Ed will get the details from her somehow.  Even Sophia is oblivious to the preparations underway.

 

She decides to leave in the late morning, once the garbage truck has gone, and the neighbours have all gone to work.  She's already called the school and lied about Sophia staying home with the flu.  As the minutes pass she comes close to having a panic attack.  What if someone sees her leave? What if he finds them? What if she can't make it on her own without him?

 

Her hands shake as she stacks sleeping bags on top of the tent they bought last summer, but never used.  Another one of Ed's attempts at being like a normal family that never came to fruition.  

 

Down the street she can hear someone scream.  The sound of it pulls her from her thoughts and she calls for Sophia instinctually.  

 

"Mama, what was that?"

 

"I don't know, baby.  Go inside and grab your dolly. We're going to go camping together, just the two of us.  Doesn't that sound like fun?"

 

Her voice is trembling, and Sophia looks at her with apprehension.  She tries again.

 

"Go on.  Everything's going to be alright.  I promise."  She plasters on a smile, and Sophia returns it with a grin of her own.  

 

"Stay inside till I get back."  She still has to run to Linda's garden shed to pick up the last of her cash. On her way down the street she notices an unusual amount of cars pulling into driveways.  It doesn't make sense - the street should be quiet.  Maybe she should wait a few more hours, but she doesn't want to risk it if Ed comes home early.

 

When she reaches Linda's house at the corner of the block, she ducks in to the backyard through a loose fence slat and makes a beeline straight for the shed.  Inside, her money is safely stowed in a shoebox behind the door.  Just having it in her hands makes her heartbeat slow to a more steady pace.  There's enough here to make a new life, if she's careful.  

 

She leaves the shed quickly, and means to head straight home, but stops in her tracks.  None of this would be possible without the woman in the house in front of her.  She was not the only one taking a risk, Linda was too.  She deserves to know how grateful she is for supporting her when there was no one else.  She won't give her any details about where she's going, but Linda can at least know that they're finally safe. 

 

Before she can talk herself out of it she's walking up to the back door and knocking.  She can hear feet shuffling around, so she calls out.

 

"Hello? Linda? It's Carol."

 

The next thing she knows, Linda, or something that looks like Linda, is snarling and clawing at the door in front of her face.  Her pupils are white and there is blood around her eyes and mouth.  

 

"Oh, my God! Linda?"

 

She stumbles back, away from the door, heart pounding.  Another scream echoes a few houses down.  There are police sirens, and car alarms going off.  Tripping, she scrambles across the yard and through the fence.  She has to get back to Sophia and get out of here.

 

On the street people are piling into vehicles and speeding through stop signs.  She sprints back to the house and sees Ed's car next to the station wagon in the driveway. What is he doing here? If she can just get Sophia in the car, everything will be okay.

 

She opens the front door to find Sophia standing stock still in the hallway, tears on her cheeks.  

 

"Daddy says we have to leave," she sniffles, clutching her doll.

 

"Daddy's right.  Let's get in the car."  She registers the fear in her voice - knows it's not helping to calm Sophia - so she draws her into a hug before turning to open the front door.

 

She's just finished closing the door when she hears him come up behind her.  The shoebox of cash drops heavily to the front step.

 

"Where you been? You crazy, leaving Sophia alone like that?"

 

He's grabbing at her arm, hunting rifle clasped in his other hand.  She can see the line of nervous sweat along his brow.  His tone is angry, but she can see fear in his eyes.  This is more frightening to her than anything else. 

 

She struggles to think of an excuse as he pushes her towards the station wagon, but he doesn't wait for her response.  She can't go back for the money now. 

 

"We gotta get the hell out of the city.  Some crazy shit is going on.  It ain't safe."

 

She fumbles with the door handle, as Ed wrenches the keys from her hand and and slides behind the wheel.

 

When she's trapped inside the vehicle with him, he turns to her as he starts the engine.

 

"Good thing you packed up.  How'd you know I'd be comin home?"

 

She reaches back to squeeze Sophia's hand.

 

"I heard about it on the radio when I was doing laundry.  I knew you'd be back."  His fear is a palpable thing in the small space of the car.  Nothing confirms this more than the fact that he doesn't question her obvious lie.  In the back seat, Sophia begins to weep quietly.  

 

This is it.  There is no escape.  As they turn on the radio and listen to the news in tense silence a different fear grips her.  She hadn't thought it possible that a worse fate than Ed Peletier lay ahead for her and Sophia.  A few blocks from their house they encounter the first group of walkers descending on a mother and child.  She's not sure who screams in the car first, her or Sophia, but she immediately stops when Ed barks at them to stop.  She scrambles into the back seat beside her terrified daughter and presses her face to her shoulder.

 

"Don't look, sweetheart.  It's okay.  Everything is going to be okay."

 


	8. Even children get older

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things come to a head outside a diner.

Carol is so busy concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other, gaining strength each day, that she doesn't notice that they've entered the woods around her hometown until they're coming up to the back of the old diner.  She stops walking so abruptly that Sasha nearly knocks her over. 

 

"Sorry! You okay, Carol?"

 

"Yeah, sorry.  I just -" she looks at Sasha, stunned.  Rick calls a halt to the march, Glen and Maggie having already entered the parking lot. 

 

"I know this place."

 

Daryl and Rick are at her side quickly. 

 

"You alright, Carol? Look like you've seen a ghost," Rick says, while Daryl offers her his canteen. 

 

"Fine.  I used to work here," she explains, swallowing a mouthful of water, grateful for the opportunity to compose herself.

 

"It's shut up tight, but looks untouched.  Could be worth checking out if we had the tools to break the deadbolt," Maggie shouts back at Rick.

 

"We may not have to.  I think I know where a key might be."

 

Tyreese and Carl grin, their luck changing.  Father Gabriel turns his eyes skyward in thanks.

 

She leads the way to a storage shed tucked into a shady corner of the lot, Daryl close at her heels. 

 

"You don't look too happy bein' back here," he says, taking her wordless cue to boost her closer to the roof.  She stretches to run a hand along the eaves trough, steadied by his hands at her waist and balancing one foot on his knee, until her fingers find a magnetic key holder.  He lowers her to the ground. 

 

"I met Ed here," she offers by way of explanation, rubbing muck off her hands and sliding the holder open to reveal a silver key.  Daryl stills; the uncertainty of what to say quieting him.  She offers him a small smile of reassurance before taking the key to the back door of the diner.  

 

The group is gathered there anxious to get inside and scavenge before dark.  It looks the same as always.  Same picnic table with the tomato sauce can for cigarette butts from the waitresses and cooks on break.  She sat there gossiping with Emily hundreds of times beside the same green dumpster.

 

They all breathe a sigh of relief when the key fits in the lock and turns with a satisfying click.  When she cracks the door open, one hand on her knife, all she is met with is the stench of rotten food.  A quick sweep through by Rick, Abraham and Rosita confirm that there are no walkers here.  The windows are covered with plywood and thick metal grates so flashlights are pulled out even though it's barely mid-day.  

 

From the looks of it the place was carefully boarded up before the turn.  She remembers the tornados that laid waste to the town when she was a girl - likely the owner (whoever it had been since she moved) was preparing for a bad one.  Tables and counters are clear.  Dishes and glassware carefully stacked on shelves.  The jukebox is covered with foam padding and blankets.  For some reason the neatness of the place is eerie.  She jumps when Carl rings the service bell on the pass.

 

They waste no time in pulling sacks of flour, cans of vegetables, jars of pickles, and containers of pasta from the back.  The washrooms are pilfered for water from the toilet tanks.  There's enough to fill a few sinks for washing.  Eugene manages to get one of the gas burners to light, nearly losing his eyebrows in the process.  Rick and Michonne work together to bathe Judith in a giant stock pot.  By sunset they have all the tea light candles in the place lit and everyone is clean (relatively) and feasting on spaghetti, regaining the energy to chat and smile.  

 

Noah, who hasn't said much since they buried Beth, is holding a candle to a bulletin board behind the cash register. He squints and looks closer before removing something from it and bringing over to her at one of the booths she's sharing with Daryl.  

 

"Is this you?"

 

He plops a sun-faded photo on the red Formica table, and suddenly she's face to face with a picture from her wedding.  A twenty something version of herself with Emily on the steps of the church, smiling.  Her curly brown hair is braided with baby's breath and she's holding a bouquet of carnations (which was all they could afford). Ed is just out of frame.  Only his arm is visible, wrapped around her waist possessively.  She feels her dinner rising in her throat. She was so naive.  

 

She reaches out to turn it over, unable to look at herself any longer, when Tara snatches it up and shows it to Rosita and Maggie.  Daryl makes no move to look at it, staring at her quietly instead.

 

"Wow! You were so young!" Tara exclaims.  "I mean, not that you're old or anything," she adds quickly.

 

Rosita lets out a low whistle. "Pretty."

 

Carl and Michonne crowd in, taking a closer look.  It feels like she's being pinned to the wall.

 

From her seat she can see the empty booth where he used to sit. She can hear his voice in her head.  What do you call a deer with no eyes?  What do you call a childless mother? What do you call a woman who should be dead?

 

"Excuse me," she mumbles, like she's fourteen again, asking her daddy to leave the table.  She stumbles past Rick and Father Gabriel and out the back door, startling Tyresse and Sasha on watch. She immediately straightens up, smiling at them and suppressing the urge to vomit.

 

"I'm taking over.  You guys go on and get some food while it's hot." The promise of a warm meal is more compelling to them than looking too closely at her face.  Sasha hands her the assault rifle and opens the door for her brother.  

 

From inside she hears yelling and a scuffle.  The sounds of Daryl's and Rick's voices carry outside.  Sasha and Tyresse turn to her, questioning, before hastening inside. In a moment Daryl is frog marched outside with his arms restrained by Abraham, Rick's hand on his chest.  He looks Daryl in the eye, motioning for Abraham to loosen his grip. 

 

"That's enough, brother.  Walk it off."

 

Daryl huffs and looks at the ground, straightening his vest and searching for a cigarette. Rick waits for him to make eye contact before turning to her and shaking his head, pulling Abe back inside. 

 

Without speaking they make their way to the picnic table and sit side by side, staring into the dark.  There's a full moon rising, casting dark shadows behind them.  She hears the scratch of his lighter.  His face is suddenly illuminated by orange light.  From the looks of it he's still worked up.  She waits until the nausea passes and her heartbeat slows.  He stubs the butt out in the tomato sauce can, before she speaks.

 

"What happened?"

 

Out of the corner of her eye she notices him picking at the skin around his fingernails, restless without the smoke to occupy his hands.

 

"That fuckin kid gets on my last nerve."

 

"Noah?"

 

He makes a low, throaty sound in the affirmative. 

 

The truth is that she's inclined to agree with him - to a point.  Over a year of living in the hospital has made Noah less than suited to their particular lifestyle.  Since he joined them he's almost shot Michonne (aiming wildly at a walker) and nearly poisoned them all with foraged mushrooms he threw in the stew pot (ruining their only meal for the day).  He has a lot to learn about survival and no time to be taught.

 

"What did he do this time?"

 

Daryl turns to her, incredulous.

 

"What do you mean, "what did he do?" You were there!"

 

When she doesn't respond, he continues - muttering the words so quickly she can barely catch them.

 

"Passin' around that picture of you for everyone to gawk at, lookin' like a bunch of fuckin' apes... Didn't even see you turnin' whiter..."

 

Of course, he noticed.  Observant. 

 

"Stirring shit up, like he always does."

 

"That doesn't explain why Abe hauled you out here..."

 

Daryl lets out a sigh, and flexes his right hand.  A closer look reveals that his knuckles are split and bleeding like she hasn't seen since the farm.

 

And here she'd been telling him he wasn't a kid anymore.

  

"Abraham?"

 

"No! The kid." 

 

He chews at a hangnail on his thumb before clarifying.

 

"If I'd a done it to Abe I don't think I'd be livin' to tell about it."

  

It's her turn to sigh. 

 

"Look...you trying to defend my honour?  It’s flattering, but you should know better than to bloody Noah's face over an old picture.  It's not his fault he found it."

 

"But it ain't just some picture." His tone is gentle, prodding her a little closer to honesty.

 

She shrugs and checks her gun for bullets.

 

"Soon as you left I took it.  Threw it on the stove top to burn, but he tried to stop me, so I stopped him.  It's gone now."

 

If only it were that easy.  

 

"I shoulda let you shoot his ass in Atlanta."

 

She shakes her head then realizes he can't really see her.

 

"He's just a kid."

 

"He's nothin' but trouble."

 

"Beth didn't seem to think so."

 

There doesn't seem to be much more for him to add after that, so they sit in silence for a while, watching the moon climb higher.  

 

* * *

 

The drive out of Atlanta is silent.  Ed keeps the radio on for a while, but the panic in the voices that carry over the airwaves. cause him to shut it off abruptly.  They listen long enough to try and avoid the I90, but it becomes apparent that there is no escape from the snarl of traffic that crawls its way from the city.  The only sound is the scratch of Ed's lighter as he lights another cigarette.  He's chain-smoking again - which speaks more to his true feelings than the gruff commands he makes, telling her to stop Sophia from crying.

 

For a dizzying moment she considers making a break for it, pull her daughter from the car when they're stopped on the highway and run for the woods.  Maybe she could make it back to their house somehow and pick up the shoeboxes.  Surely it would still be there.  She just needs a chance to get away.  The only thing that freezes her in place is the image of a monster staring out at her from Linda's face.   

 

By nightfall they have only moved twenty miles.  It seems that she's destined to stay in one place the rest of her life.  As the hours go by, and the sky lights up with explosions, any hope she has of escape is snuffed out. 

 

Eventually Sophia succumbs to her fear and exhaustion and falls asleep in Carol's arms.  In the backseat she can see Ed's eyes in the rearview mirror, keeping an eye on them both, while he takes another drag.  Her stomach twists when she realizes that his gaze always returns to Sophia and the smooth patch of skin on her stomach where her shirt has ridden up.  She waits for him to notice the car ahead moving forward before leaning over and pulling the shirt down.  Maybe she's imagining it.

 

The night is a blur of fear and confusion.  Ed and Shane pitch the tent while she and Lori hold flashlights over them.  In the morning, when she returns to their tent with firewood, but no coffee, Ed is waiting for her.  Last night his fear made him almost docile, but this morning he is back to himself again.  She can tell by the way he jabs his cigarette into the tree trunk that she is in trouble.

 

"Where are my clothes?" 

 

His voice is soft, but there is venom barely contained behind the words.  He moves between her and the tent, blocking her path.  Her eyes shift to the ground at his feet while she searches for an answer.

 

"I - I didn't have a chance to pack them."

 

"Bullshit," he spits out.  

 

Around them the camp is beginning to stir.  She sees two blonde women stretching and chatting outside another tent.  Lori is making her way to the RV and waves at her on the way.  She plasters on a smile and nods over Ed's shoulders.  He turns and sees that there are no walls to hide behind, and lowers his voice.

 

"You were gonna leave me, weren't ya?"

 

She bites her lip to keep from crying and shakes her head, trying to move past him.

 

"Let me get breakfast going.  Sophia will be up soon."

 

"You ungrateful bitch."

 

"I swear, I just didn't finish packing.  Let me fix you something - you'll feel better."

 

He steps in closer then, grabbing her by the arm and forcing her back into the trees.  Her heart races in her chest as her feet stumble forward.  She's never been more certain that he's going to kill her.

 

Their march abruptly ends when he slams her back into the trunk of a fir tree.  The impact drives the air from her lungs.  He brings his face close to hers, forcing her to make eye contact.  When he speaks his voice is oddly calm and flat.

 

"That's the last time you try an take my girl from me, you hear me?"

 

He emphasizes his point with a fist to her stomach that has her rolling on the ground, gasping for breath.

 

"Where exactly did you think y'all were gonna go?  Who else would provide for you? Huh?"

 

She struggles to speak.  He's on the ground with her now, leaning over her body, shaking her viciously by the shoulders with each question he hurls at her.

 

"Who'd even want you?"

 

No one, she mouths at him, but he is too far gone now to notice.  His face is an angry dark blur against the blue sky.

 

"You pull this shit again, Carol, I swear to God I will kill you."

 

His weight disappears from her body, and she's left there writhing in the dirt, face smeared with snot and tears.  And despite everything, she is relieved because he stopped this time.  She'll live to see the rest of the day and Sophia's face again.

 

Eventually she straightens her clothes, runs a hand over her head and stomach to assess the damage (another cracked rib, if she had to guess), and returns to camp.  It takes all of two minutes for Sophia to see her, and recognize that something happened.  Her little face goes blank and her eyes turn inward.  

 

A few days later she's doing laundry for Lori's husband when she finds it - a heavy lump in his pocket.  When she realizes what it is, she almost drops it.  She turns the grenade between her soft palms carefully, feeling the weight.  Such a small, innocent looking thing - but she knows it's dangerous.  For some reason, holding it is comforting.

 

* * *

 

Glenn peeks his head out of the back door to check if they want to trade off on watch before everyone beds down, but they wave him off.

 

Daryl surprises her by breaking the silence some time later.

 

"You gonna tell me what you're thinkin' about?" 

 

She shrugs her shoulder, wincing a bit.

 

"I guess I just wasn't expecting to find myself back here again, you know? See that photo? It's funny how places- people- get a hold on you, even after they get left behind."

 

He nods in agreement.

 

"Mmhmm.  First the shelter, now this.  It's like some fucked up version of This is Your Life."

 

"You watched a lot of TV as a kid, didn't you," she states, trying to turn the conversation back to him.  The comment hits a little too close to home, so he gets up and starts walking a slow patrol in front of her, facing the woods.  She thinks he's closing himself off again, and silently curses, until he surprises her by continuing to speak.

 

"I get it.  Me an Michonne found a cabin when we was lookin for the Governer.  Was just like the old man had.  Stinkin like moonshine and piss.  I couldn't even go inside."

 

He stops pacing, and she sees his shoulders drop slightly.

 

"Took Beth there.  She wanted to get lit, and I guess I did too..."

 

Heaviness settles over them, and his voice is thick when he finally continues.

 

"I acted like a fuckin jackass - pushin her, screaming at her.  Told her she'd never see Maggie again."  

 

He pauses again, reliving it all.

 

"And I thought..."  He takes a shaky breath, "I'm just like my dad."

 

She feels a clutch in her chest, and tears prick her eyes.  She had hoped that his time apart from her hadn't been anything like hers, but clearly he had his own demons chasing him.  The heavy book in his bag is proof enough of that.

 

"That's not true.  You're a good man. An honourable man."

 

He scoffs, and turns to face her, tears in his eyes too.

 

"She didn't leave me alone.  Just put up with my shit - said I had to put it behind me. We burned it to the ground," he says with a sad smile.

 

"When she got taken, I ran after that fuckin car all night..."

 

She watches, helplessly, as his face silently crumples.  It's all it takes for her to go to him, rubbing his arm - her throat constricting so painfully it's hard to breathe.

 

His bites at the inside of his lower lip, trying to get a hold of himself.

 

"It's my fault."

 

"What?"

 

"I dropped my guard.  Lost my nerve."

 

Her grip tightens on his shoulders, forcing him to look her in the eye.  

 

"It wasn't your fault.  Beth made a decision on her own.  You weren't the one who pulled the trigger."

 

"I did - was just too late.  We shoulda gone with Rick's plan."

 

"And go in guns blazing? There were sick people there - old and weak.  You did what you thought was best."

 

He shakes his head, but he sighs deeply and looks at the ground as though conceding her point.

 

"It don't make sense.  What was she thinkin?"

 

Her limited time with Beth had been full of useless conversation that she'd give anything to change.  One thing she noticed immediately was how the young woman had hardened.  There was a bitterness to her tone that was worrying.  She wanted to protect Noah, but more than that, she wanted to teach Dawn a lesson - make her understand that she wouldn't walk away without a fight.

 

She thinks of the girls at the grove.  Lizzie wanted to make them understand.  Make her sister and Judith change and come back.  She was so sick.  How did she not see it before?

 

"She was just a kid.  She made a mistake - but we don't get to make mistakes anymore.  We don't get second chances."

 

He turns to look at her, sensing the shift in her thoughts.

 

"You don't mean Beth, do ya?"

 

The quiet way he says this tells her he knows more than he's let on.  She knows that if she lies now, he'll know.  She turns her eyes to the sky above his head and sees Cassiopeia shining brighter than ever.  In the diner there is Tyreese and the promise she made him - but here with Daryl there is something equally binding.  His eyes are full of pleas he won't voice, and with a sad certainty she knows that there is no other time to tell him.

 

She swipes absently at the tears that are already streaming down her cheeks, and opens her mouth to speak - but nothing comes out.  He waits for her, with infinite patience, like always.


	9. And I'm getting older too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secrets are revealed.

"Hurry up!  An bring some wood when ya come back.  Don't wanna freeze another goddam night."

 

It's the first time, since the first morning at camp, that he's let her out of his sight.  Jacqui and Amy invite her down to the quarry lake to wash, and Ed agrees to let her go.  "You're startin to stink."

 

Sophia stays behind, playing with Carl.  Seeing them together puts a smile on her face.  They're fast friends.  She's only known Lori for a few days, but somehow she trusts her daughter with the woman.

 

On the way down to the water they stop by the RV and borrow a few towels from Dale and persuade Andrea to join them.  Carol walks a little ways behind the other three.  Despite everything, they are chatty and eager to get in the water.  She watches the way Andrea carries herself - almost like she's strutting down the path, head high, lips quirking upwards underneath her straw hat.  Jacqui's stance is similarly confident - gesturing with her hands.  Amy is nodding, a towel hung over one shoulder.

 

"What about you, Carol?"

 

"Sorry?"

 

Amy is looking at her with a small smile.  She flushes instantly.  She hasn't been listening to a word they've been saying.  She was just thinking that Amy is about the same age she was when she married Ed.  It's embarrassing to be caught counting regrets, but the women just smile like it's no big deal, and Amy repeats the question.   

 

"What do you do for a living?"

 

Try to protect myself, she thinks.  

 

"I'm a homemaker." 

 

It's not exactly true.  No matter how hard she'd tried, how many Better Homes and Gardens magazines she bought, it never was a home.

 

Jacqui smiles.

 

"Being a full-time mom, that's a big job.  Your girl is such a sweet thing."

 

"Thank you."

 

It takes her a few beats to realize that she should say something else.  It's like she's trying to speak with a mouth full of peanut butter, the words stick there stubbornly.  Her voice is soft and unaccustomed to use.   _Say something_.   _Turn the conversation back to them_.

 

"What do you all do?"

 

Andrea laughs, "You just missed that part.  I was just telling Jacqui that I'm a lawyer.  Cue the bad jokes.  She works as a civil servant in the zoning office.  And Amy here's a full time pain in the ass - I mean, college student." 

 

Amy turns to her in mock outrage.  "Thanks, Andrea.  I love you too."

 

She suddenly feels even more awkward and out of place with these women.  While she's been living a life of laundry loads, meatloaf and threats, they've been getting degrees and working independently.

 

"You have any kids?" She asks Andrea as they get closer to the water.  Andrea doffs her hat and pants before replying.

 

"Nah.  Haven't really thought much about it.  Besides, I don’t have anyone I'd want to make one with."

 

"Amen," Jacqui adds, carefully folding her shirt and placing it on a rock.  

 

"I want kids," Amy declares, wading into the water with a wince.  Andrea's eyebrows shoot up. 

 

"You'd have to keep them alive, Amy, unlike that fern in your dorm you left to die."

 

"What are you talking about? I have never killed a plant."

 

The easy banter does much to set her at ease.  She tries to be quick about undressing - actually debates keeping her shirt on, but decides that will only draw their attention.  If she can slide into the water fast enough, and get out first it should be alright.

 

"Oh my God! What happened?" Amy blurts out.  She looks down to see the purple bruise the size of a baseball on her stomach.  

 

"It's nothing.   I just fell on some wood earlier.  I'm fine." She smiles weakly and plunges into the water, ignoring the cold as well as the concerned look on Jacqui's face.  It was all going so well, but now they are looking at her like she's made of glass.  

 

She never dreamed that they'd bring it up in front of Ed, standing between them defiantly - like women ever stopped him before.  She doesn't want their pity.  This is just the way it is.  It doesn't matter.  She doesn't matter.  

 

Then Shane steps in and everything slows down, playing out like a bad movie.  The bones in Ed's nose crunch over and over.  Andrea is yelling something.  She hears a wailing sob and realizes, with a start, that it's coming from her.  Her heart pounds when she realizes that if he doesn't stop Ed will die.  For all her attempts to leave him, she doesn't want him to die.  She can't fathom living with his death on her hands (or anyone else's), so she repeats the same words to his unconscious face in a never ending stream.

 

"I'm sorry! Ed, I'm sorry!"

 

If he dies it will be her fault. 

 

* * *

 

 Daryl is still quietly waiting for her, unshed tears still glistening in his eyes.  She takes a deep breath and braces herself. 

 

"I killed Lizzie."  The words come out in a mumbled rush, and for a terrifying minute she thinks she'll have to repeat them because he doesn't react.  

 

"You had to put her down?" His brow furrows in concern.  His tone is so gentle.  He doesn't understand.

 

She shakes her head helplessly.  She doesn't want to explain, but she can't stop now with this half-truth hanging in the air between them.

 

"She was confused - sick - I don't know.  We left them for just a minute..."  It all comes back to her in a rush.  The bloody knife.  Mika's pale, peaceful face.  

 

"She killed her sister.  She was going to kill Judith... I couldn't... There was no other choice."

 

He doesn't look horrified like she expected - just sadder than she's ever seen him look - like he's aged a hundred years in a minute.  His chin shakes slightly, and he turns his gaze to their hands that have somehow ended up locked together.

 

"I killed her... I killed my little girl..." she finishes weakly.  All the strength she has drains away.  She concentrates on the tight grip of his hands to remain upright.  She feels like she's going to be sick again.  For so long she's been trying to forget.  It's exhausting.  After a few agonizing moments of concentrating she gets her body back under control, hearing his voice in her head telling her to breathe in and out - until she realizes it's not in her head.

 

"I shoulda been there.  I could-," he says, his voice wavering.

 

"No."  It comes out too loud and angry in the quiet around them.  Her sudden ferocity shocks them both to stillness.

 

"No," she repeats more softly, "The only thing worse than living through it is how I'd feel if you did it for me."

 

His eyes meet hers again, full of hurt and frustration.

 

"I woulda taken care of it for you."

 

And she knows that he means it.  If he had been there instead of Tyreese he would have carried that burden for her.  She squeezes his hands even harder.

 

"You can't fix everything, Daryl.  You can't fix me."

 

He drops her hands abruptly and turns away from her to throw a punch at the dumpster.  It's his turn to be angry.  Without his hands in hers she can't manage to stand, so she slumps onto the picnic table once again, rubbing her face with her hands.  He throws another punch, fist bouncing off the metal uselessly.

 

* * *

 

She tries, in her own soft way, to fix Ed.  Seeing him so physically broken down is frightening, especially after watching Jim come unhinged, and every passing day reminding them that this is the end of the world.  If she loses him now, she'll have no family left. And there will be no one to keep her and Sophia safe.  

 

She offers him cold cloths for his head and keeps on apologizing.  He doesn't acknowledge her except to snatch the cloth away and ask for Sophia to stay in the tent with him.  She gets the same odd feeling in the pit of her stomach when he grabs at the girl's wrist.  For some reason she's reminded of Daddy.  If Ed were at full strength she never would have questioned his request, but in that moment, seeing the blank stare settle on that beautiful freckle-face, she gently pulls them both out of the tent and into the night.

 

He turns away from them in an angry huff, "To hell with both y'all."

 

It's the last time she ever sees him alive.  Even after all that time she still thinks about his words - damning them both. 

 

* * *

 

"You're going to draw them, and wake everyone up if you don't stop."  She knows appealing to his sense of pragmatism is the only way to get through to him right now.  What she really wants to say is, please stop, because I can't bear to see you hurting yourself over me.

 

He turns back to her, still angry despite his physical outburst.

 

"Ain't nothin wrong with you.  You're gonna be just fine." He throws these words at her so emphatically it's clear that he's trying to convince them both.

 

"I'm a murderer."

 

He shakes his head and throws an arm towards the diner behind her.

 

"Look around! We're all murderers!"

 

He looks at her and sighs, dropping his hands.  On the verge of apologizing - she knows he doesn't mean to yell at her.

 

"What do you want me to say?"

 

There's no energy left to sustain his anger anymore.  She wants to argue with him - there's no absolution for her -  but more than that she wants to comfort him, and be comforted by him.  He leans heavily on the picnic table and grips it so hard she can see the veins in his arms, but when he speaks again it's in a broken whisper.

 

"I dunno... I just... I can't lose you, Carol."

 

And just like that, her heart is wrenched back in place.  There is relief and pain in equal measure, like forcing a shoulder back into a socket.  And it hurts.  It hurts.

 

She slides off the table carefully and stands in front of him.  It's all the encouragement he needs to pull her to his chest and bury his face in her neck.  He fits there perfectly, like always.

 

She brings her hands up to his head, cradling him closer and spreading her fingers through his matted hair.  His ear is close to her mouth, so she whispers, "I'm still here - trying."

 

His hands grip tighter, pulling her closer still, careful of her right shoulder and bruised ribs.  He doesn't say another word, but his embrace reassures her that he is still there too.  She clutches his neck firmly, thinking that maybe they can hold each other together by force alone. Without anyone around to stare she is unwilling to let him go.  His breath comes in short, hot, bursts on her neck.  He is warm, and alive, and has not shunned her, and that's all she needs for now.

 

Their embrace loses some of it's ferocity over time, turning to quiet relief.  Her hands move to press into the knotted muscles of his neck and shoulders.  His breathing becomes slower and more measured.  His hands loosen their grip to move over across her shoulders and down her back, soothingly, like he'd done for Judith days before.

 

Something happens when they are physically close like this.  They always communicate better without words.  It's been so long since anyone was this gentle with her, and she knows it's the same for him.  The air of desperate comfort shifts to something else.  For a moment she feels like she's back in that van.  They're teetering over the edge together, and it's exhilarating, but it scares her to death.


	10. I took my love, and took it down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The landslide.

The morning after the walkers overrun the camp is warm and sunny in stark contrast to the cold blood and sweat on the ground.  The dawn breaks in the East and paints the sky in faded purple, like the colour of a violet, or a bruise.  She sits by the light of the dying fire all night until the smoke turns white as it curls into the air, Sophia tucked under her arm on the bench seat from the Morales' old van.  Despite the warm air, she can't stop shaking.  

 

One minute Dale was talking about conquering time, and the next the air was filled with sounds of screams and shot guns.  Shane and Rick quickly set up a watch, sending T-Dog and Daryl to check the perimeter, but the damage is already done.  She watches Andrea's silent vigil over her sister's lifeless body and wishes she had something to offer the woman - but she has no words, only the courage to ask Lori to go and talk to her.  Ed hasn't appeared, and she is too afraid to move to ask one of the men to check on him.

 

Some time after the sun has fully rose Glenn comes over to her, hat in hand.  His face is red and blotchy from crying, and when he finally speaks his voice cracks.

 

"I'm sorry, Carol.  They got Ed."

 

She suspected as much, but to have it confirmed is something she isn't prepared for.  Sophia peeks her head up and looks from Glenn to her - hazel eyes full to the brim.  He turns away quietly, unable to witness any more grief.  She feels a hand on her shoulder and turns to see Lori, who pulls her into a tight embrace.

 

"I'm so sorry."

 

Strangely, the first thought she has is that they will label her as a widow now, instead of a victim.  She's not sure which is worse.

 

All morning she stays on the seat watching everyone setting the camp to rights, like they can continue having philosophical chats around a fire if they can just get rid of the bodies.  The only one who doesn't seem to gag and wince at the sight of the blood and body parts is Daryl.  He storms around, throwing a pickaxe in the faces of every corpse (even the ones he shared meals with) like he's taking out the trash, utterly detached.  He even tosses out a jibe at Rick, suggesting that this is all some kind of justice for Merle's fate.

 

When he heads in the direction of their tent (just her's now), she feels compelled to get up.  Every wooden step she takes is a struggle, like she's climbing a mountain. 

 

It is one thing to know Ed is dead.  It is another to see what's left of him on the ground.  Her breath catches when his body is revealed to her.  His ribcage is visible through a tattered shirt.  It's the only thing she can really use to identify him now.  She had ironed it for him only yesterday.  One arm and leg are completely gone, their absence jarring.

 

Daryl is swinging the pickaxe with vigour, effortlessly slamming it through skulls scattered in the dirt.  He lifts his arms to strike at Ed.  Without really meaning to, she walks closer to him.  She's always kept her distance from him since that first morning at camp, but this new dawn has erased his intimidation in her eyes.  She motions with her hands for him to stop, and he does - reading her request without words.

 

"I'll do it.  He's my husband."

 

He doesn't respond.  There is no defiance or contempt.  He just hands her the pickaxe and gets out of the way.  It's heavier than she expects, but she is determined.

 

At her feet, Ed's face is a bloated mass of blood and tissue covered with flies.  His teeth are exposed, and she can see the chip on his incisor from a failed attempt at taking the cap off a beer bottle.  His blue eyes are long gone.  The first eyes that noticed her.  The eyes that smiled at her while she cradled Sophia on the day she was born.

 

She is shaking harder, but somehow wills the pickaxe over her head.  Just one strike, and it will all be over.  Then she'll go back to Sophia and figure out where they go from here.

 

Gravity brings the metal claw down with more force then she intended.  The impact reverberates up the handle and into the joints of her arm.  She can actually feel the bones of his skull give way, like eggshell.

 

The sound of it triggers something deep inside her.  The feeling of her own bones bending, breaking, being wrenched out of place.  Being pushed down, manipulated, belittled—violated.  And suddenly she is overcome with rage at the injustice of the life she has lived at his mercy - of the years he robbed from her.  The torrent of emotions floods out of her like a landslide; violent and unstoppable.  She strikes out in fury, again and again and again.

 

When she comes back to herself Ed's face is completely obliterated.  Nothing remains but rotting flesh and black blood seeping into the dirt.  Blisters and splinters bite angrily at her palms.  The muscles in her arms and back are strained and aching.  She takes a shaky breath, and starts when Daryl lays a calloused hand on the handle, urging her to let go.   

 

* * *

 

With his hands still on her back, she can feel his nose glide lightly across the skin of her neck.  Her eyes close to better savour the sensation.  Just when she thinks she's imagining it, she feels the unmistakable wet heat of his mouth press firmly in the hollow of her collarbone.  The air feels cool on the damp spot he leaves behind.  The movement of her hands stops completely as she registers the kisses he is placing ardently, wherever his lips can reach, urging her to let go.  They're free falling and she can do nothing but hold on and pray for a soft landing.  It's enough to drive the breath from her lungs.

 

After a few minutes, that could have been hours, a final tender kiss lands just under her earlobe before he pulls back and rests his forehead on hers.  His eyes are closed, like he is as unwilling to stop as she is.  There is peace in this moment, though the air is charged between them.  

 

She knows that their conversation is far from over, but for the first time she doesn't want to keep avoiding it.  Maybe she's right.  Maybe he can't fix her anymore than she can fix him, but that doesn't mean it's not worth trying.

 

The sun is just starting to rise, allowing her to see his swollen lips.  He opens his eyes then, blue stars shining with so much trust and love.  She feels it surround her like armour, bolstering her, lending her courage, protecting her from hurt, and it's all too much.  She's never felt love like this, bubbling up from the deepest parts of her.

 

The tears stream from her eyes, blurring his face, and she is helpless to stop them.  A gentle realization settles over her - there is nothing to fear from falling as long as they're falling together.

 

He doesn't move, just breathes deeply and waits for her, content with the present no matter what the future brings.  She almost doesn't want to move - just live eternally in this moment with him.

 

Her eyes drift close, feeling the warmth of the sun and Daryl on her skin. She starts to tilt her mouth closer to his when the door to the diner crashes open.  In an instant Daryl has a hand on his gun, and she swings around with her trench knife, only to see Eugene stumble out, blinking in the light.

 

"It's just me.  I have an urgent need to relieve my bladder," he says, raising his hands.

 

Daryl holsters his gun with a huff and motions for Eugene to get going.  He looks angry and imposing, but she can still see the blush on his cheeks that has nothing to do with the pink light in the sky.

 

"Could you come with me? I'd feel better if I had some protection."

 

Daryl glares at him, but Eugene doesn't take the hint.  She gives him a look -  _Come on. Be nice._

  

"Go on. I'm right behind ya."

 

Satisfied, Eugene starts walking across the parking lot and into the woods.  Daryl follows after, turning to look at her one more time.  And it's there again - the love.  Why has it taken so long for her to allow herself to see it - to feel worthy enough to accept it? 

 

She mouths one word to him,  _Later._ The corner of his mouth twitches upward and he nods his head.  

 

* * *

 

 They don't get to kiss properly for a few days after Eugene's badly timed interruption.  The space between them is comfortable once more, and everyone in the group seems to sense it.  Daryl sticks closer to her side than ever, progressing from playful elbow nudges, to clasping her hand when they bring up the rear of the group, to carefully placing an arm around her shoulders beside the fire one night.  

 

Glenn raises an eyebrow at Michonne, who mimics his gesture and shrugs.  Eugene opens   his mouth to comment, but Tara elbows him in the ribs sharply and Rick turns their attention back to Judith, who is giggling at Abraham shifting his moustache.  

 

She feels giddy, like she's back in high school and sneaking out of the house.  There are no declarations or many opportunities to continue their conversation, but the promise that there will be time for all of it is enough for now.  The way they feel about each other is present in every gentle touch and kindness they exchange every day.  

 

When the kiss finally comes it takes her by surprise.  She wakes up on the ground, covered by his long-sleeved shirt to find him propped up on an elbow staring at her.  It's still early, and no one is up yet.  The dawn is breaking, like the morning outside the diner, bringing her back to the comfort of his gaze.  

 

 _Hi,_  she mouths to him with a smile, not wanting to wake the others and spoil the illusion of privacy.  

 

 _Hi,_ he mouths back, though his eyes say so much more.  They flit to her mouth and linger there before turning back to her eyes.

 

She shifts, heart pounding, closing her eyes and angling her face closer to his when she hears an audible  _thunk_ and feels a sharp pain on her forehead.  Her eyes fly open to see Daryl lower his face to his hand, quietly cursing - a sizeable goose egg forming on his temple.  She reaches out to caress the tender bump with her fingertips, stifling a laugh even though her own head is throbbing.  It seems kissing requires more coordination than either of them had anticipated.  He looks up, embarrassed and red faced, quickly examining her head, wincing and whispering "Sorry."

 

She turns her face into her sleeve to muffle a giggle before pulling away.  He looks so forlorn and defeated that it's clear that he's not going to try again any time soon.  In their world, time is too valuable to waste, so she leans forward and kisses the stubble on his chin, holding his head in both hands to prevent any more mishaps.  Another silent kiss follows on the corner of his mouth, right on his tiny mole, before he turns slightly and seals them together.  The throbbing in her head is instantly forgotten, replaced with dizziness and a throbbing in a decidedly less humorous place.  

* * *

 

Kissing sweetly lasts for a few innocent days, but soon kissing turns into a hunger that is startling to both of them in its ferocity.  One night, in the privacy of a claimed bedroom that will forever be burned into her memory he confesses, "I never felt anything like this before."  His voice, so full of awe and reverence, echoes in the ear she has pressed to his chest - bare from where his shirt still gaps open.

 

"Me neither," she sighs, moving her hand gently across his rib cage.

 

Their newfound intimacy brings about surprising discoveries. They learn that she can come apart at the sound of her own name whispered in her ear - that he has a soft spot on the inside of his elbow that begs to be kissed. 

 

She loves the hollow dip of his collarbone, and he loves her hair.  He runs his fingers through it, tucking whisps behind her ears.  They lay in bed together staring at each other in the semi-dark room catching their breath. 

 

Later, when the boneless feeling in their bodies begins to pull them into a dreamless sleep, she whispers, "I'm so glad I met you."

 

**Author's Note:**

> Carol and Daryl are not my creations or property. No profit was made from the writing or distribution of this work.
> 
> This is the longest and most in-depth story I've ever written. Posted almost a year ago on Nine Lives before I knew what a beta was - so pardon my errors in early chapters. Thanks to Steph for being my beta for the later chapters. Some day I'll go over this and do a more thorough edit.


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